Wizard Killer
by Malias M
Summary: A witch appears and Piccolo is tasked with their defense against a band of wizards bent on harvesting her for a sinister purpose. Finally, Piccolo gets to have all the fun this time—the fun of saving the world! What, was there anything else? Enough distractions, it's time to train! [Reader OC] [OC villians] [Takes place in the DBZ epilogue years after Super.]
1. When the Student Is Ready

**Author note: Uniforms aside, the OC's appearance is up to you to imagine.**

* * *

Amid the dinosaur screams of the wastelands, a witch sat atop a heap of rocks. She eyed her handheld's computer screen, which displayed a topographic map concentrated with gnarled, colorful rings.

"It's true... Awful," the witch said to herself, pressing the handheld device's beeping buttons to zoom the map out. "This area's entire mountain range is gone! This destruction. It's almost as bad as the loss of the Great Pyramids and Plateau over 20 years ago." She closed her eyes and gave the Dragon World Heritage Site a moment of silence. Though she'd volunteered some work in restoring those pyramids, there was a long way to go in excavating the remnants, which had mysteriously been blasted into the sand by some unknown force.

It was just like when the moon exploded. Twice! It was back and safe for years now, but how long would that last?

The witch slumped at the helplessness of it all. Pocketing her handheld and grabbing her broom, she stood up from the rock heap and stretched instead. She slapped her cheeks in determination.

There was no time for feeling sorry. Entire mountain ranges disappeared all the time on this planet. That was just a fact. Why, it was one of the planet's seven mysteries!

To put such destruction into perspective, in the last 25 years alone, over half of the world's mountains had mysteriously disappeared. Well... had. But thankfully, geological conservation was part of her job.

Her name was Reed Erwitch, a human and a geologist foremost, and a witch most of all. If that made any sense.

"Nice! The remnants are close. I'll complete the project and sign off," Reed said, clenching her fists to hype herself-up. A small fountain of energy snapped-up around her and dirt wafted away. Her brow furrowed beneath the brim of her oversized witch hat. "Re-emerging Collation"—she raised her broom and swung it—"Wave!"

With a loud zap, the wasteland flooded in blooming light, raising a flurry of rocks in the witch's wake. Shuddering for the sky, bits of grumbling stone and dust spiraled as their debris came together and slowly re-built the mountain. It was like its past disintegration was reversing in struggling slow-motion.

Reed held her hands high, her temples sweating as she focused. She strained. She grunted. Her eyes watered as her mouth pulled inward. At long last, the remaining rock debris patted down before her like a well-formed meatloaf.

The light subsided. The spell let out a sharp sound and vanished, and in the magic's wake, the re-built mountain stood tall, casting its shade down on Reed. It was almost as if it'd never been lost.

Reed collapsed on her hands and knees and gasped for precious air, totally sapped of strength. "Bhugugh, hwoo... done," she said, still out-of-breath. "Another mountain... back... from extinction." Sweat drenched her; proof of her immersion in her honestly pointless task. These mountains were never going to stop falling down.

After taking a few moments to steady her wobbly self, Reed sat up and weakly pulled a bag of melting gummy worms from her witch robe. "A completed job deserves a complete lunch break!" She closed her eyes cheerfully as she tapped the bag with the end of her broom. "Paloosha!" she said, which was her own magical word (and a precious gift given to her by the Old Witch of her village, along with said broom).

In a short burst, the bag of gummy worms transformed into a four-course tea tower.

The witch blissfully snacked on sandwiches and pastries, even as an ear-shattering caw pierced the heavens. Overhead, a dirt pterodactyl circled. From the looks of it, the creature had just selected the newly-rebuilt mountain as the ideal spot to brood on.

"Aww," Reed cooed, her heart filled with peace and inner contentment as she watched the dirt pterodactyl land. Rearing its neck, it spit a mud-like substance all-over the side of the cliff. It hocked up several more spit piles before desperately raking its beak through them. It was crafting a nice, new home. "How adorable!"

In this world, mountains were more than just chunks of rock. They were often invaluable homes and ecosystems for Earth's magnificent creatures. And half of the time, they were important historic monuments. Truly, it was a tragedy how they were all being blown away without any explanation, thought, or reason. It was puzzling, but that was what she was here for.

Encouraged by the busy dirt pterodactyl, Reed munched her lunch hurriedly and promised that she would restore even more mountains in the future. Taking out her device and selecting the current area on the map, she marked it "restored" and selected the day's date.

After finishing her meal and packing-up, Reed got on her broom and lifted off. "If I keep going," she said to herself, looking at her device, "I'll finish this range by the end of the week."

Fate had to laugh, as the sunlight suddenly dimmed. "Huh?" Reed emitted, looking-up and seeing what appeared to be storm-clouds. "That's peculiar." She clutched her hat brim as she looked on. "The weather report didn't say anything about rain today..."

Out of the sky, a form dropped and vanished. In an instant, rocks and debris exploded through the air.

The nearby dirt pterodactyl screeched. With a similar cry, Reed held onto her broom as the creature flew past her—its eyes bugged-out and tongue lolling as it was flung, flapping, for the horizon.

Energy crackled in the background, and as the choking dust settled, the bare sight before Reed set her teeth apart. She could hardly spit out her next few words: "It's... gone!"

The entire mountain that she'd so dutifully rebuilt that afternoon was leveled to the ground. In an instant.

It happened so fast! Reed found herself hyperventilating from the loss. Clutching her broomstick, she gulped down her anxiety and surveyed the horizon.

Far off, near the canyon she'd repaired only last week, she heard and saw a booming implosion. That canyon ALSO fell. "No way!" she cried, holding her head in absolute shock. This would HARDLY be the end of it. After a short minute, a repaired ten-million-year-old plateau was powdered into nothing. Further off, several semi-active peaks, detonated! All around, precious underground channels were being caved-in with systematic blasts. Everything her eyes could see, Earth's precious geography, was being blown away like someone stomping through her lovingly-gathered leaf piles.

Quivering with despair and then anger, Reed leaned on her broom and took-off through the sky.

* * *

As if appeased by all the geological destruction he'd done, Piccolo stopped his training mid-air and closed his eyes. A sensation snapped in the back of his skull and he frowned. He hadn't mistaken it. That speck of a power-level he'd avoided during his training run was coming closer. Though it wasn't an outright evil one, it was vague, like an ember about to catch on fire. It truly was an insignificant spark of a power level, suspiciously so.

Unexplainably, he was entrenched in dread.

Half-disturbed and half-expectant, Piccolo stood still in the air and waited to deal with it.

The air whistled as a human came closer. "Hey you!" Reed yelled. "Are you the one responsible for this carnage?!"

Piccolo went on guard. "Carnage?" he repeated, his words nearly catching in his throat. He looked back on the empty landscape and relaxed. He would've sensed any power-levels if there WERE any. "Carnage... That's a strong word to use, considering there's no one even around," he answered at last. "Explain to me, exactly, what kind of 'carnage' am I responsible for?"

"Will DO," Reed said, producing a massive wall map and un-rolling it. "Observe... You are here." She pointed at the map. "And all these landmarks"—she slapped the map from corner to corner—"once existed, quite majestically, UNTIL you blew it all up." The laminate wobbled loudly. "You understand? Destroying mountains is bad!"

Piccolo grunted, dismayed at what was happening.

The witch's lecture was far from over. "Look around. These wastelands began forming 50 million years ago," she went on, "when a major tectonic cataclysm caused this unique formation of the mountain range before us"—she jabbed a finger at the map and traced to the outer edge—"along with the plateau of this canyon here, which HAD been shaped 30 million years ago by the Ancient World Glacial Melt Event, along with these semi-active peaks, all which were, on this very afternoon, slain where they stood!"

Piccolo couldn't believe his ears. "Slain?" he emitted. They were JUST mountains.

Reed rolled-up the map. "That's right!" she said, not done yet. "All over the world, mountains and other such features are disappearing at an alarming rate, causing a rapid decrease in biodiversity!" She clenched a fist and beheld the sky. "That's because these geological features are important habitats for Earth's creatures. Not only that, but they're landmarks and monuments steeped in lore and tradition! Legends! Like the inlet cove of the largest dragon horde, or the demon mouth mountain, where starving families once hurled their aging kin into the bottomless abyss below!"

Big-eyed, Piccolo floated back.

She instantly honed in on his discomfort—and recovered the distance. "Do you understand now?" she asked, pressing in. She held onto her broomstick and leaned forward, puffing up and staring at him in anticipation. Upon seeing how bewildered he was instead, she deflated. Of course. "Ah, forget it. Maybe blowing-up mountains is fun somehow," she said, knowing that no one ever understood her job anyhow. "But even so, maybe try putting those mountains back together sometime instead. Ok? It just might be fun as well. Who knows!"

Words evaded Piccolo. How was he supposed to un-blast rock? How was he supposed to perform such a backwards action? Destroying mountains was all he knew! It was all anybody knew—at least within his questionable friend group...

His gaze unfocused, transfixed by this total conundrum.

"You know," Reed started, "you're the first person to ever really listen to me... without laughing in my face..." She held her chin in reflection. "So I'll let it go, but just this once." She nodded. "Well. I guess I'll see you around, then... maybe." She half-heartedly waved and left as she'd arrived. Flying down to the still-smoldering rubble, she landed and went back to work.

Though Piccolo knew he'd been excused from his crimes against the background scenery, he remained shocked nevertheless (and floating in mid-air). He couldn't believe that, after five months of isolated training, and several decades of routine destruction, he suddenly had to deal with such an awkward interaction—and under such a taxing accusation to boot. The whole reason why he trained in these kind of places was to avoid such problems!

Not that he felt THREATENED by her or anything. Piccolo just wasn't sure how to deal with human women sometimes... Though—he always put extra effort in, manner-wise, and was pretty sure he was better at it than some people he knew. At least, according to Chi Chi.

For real though, why was this witch hanging around in such a dangerous and barren place? And what did she mean by the last thing she'd said? Was she really OK with her life's work constantly be misunderstood, just because it's hard for anyone to believe that a bunch of tall, pointy rocks were there long enough to be significant?

More importantly, why did he have to feel so bad?

The witch's power-level spiked once more.

Seeking understanding, Piccolo watched, arms folded. He noted that maybe he'd gotten too careless lately, especially since he'd landed so close to a civilian during his training. As he mentally chided himself, his eyes traced the workings of the witch's restoration technique.

Rubble levitated, and as Reed called-out, "Re-emerging Collation Wave!", light and rocks flung across the sky like an electric hailstorm... A hailstorm that might as well have taken place in a world devoid of gravity.

Slow!

As advanced as the magic was, the laughable pace was distressing.

Piccolo watched as the underground cavern he'd uncovered in a blast-run was carefully pieced back together and closed-up by a reforming, low hill. Watching the last hundred pieces lumber into place, however, was mental agony. It was like waiting on the microwave.

After a tedious process, the magical restoration completed and the witch's finished spell gave out with a dull tone.

After such an admittedly supernatural display, Reed took one proud look at her accomplishment and fell flat on her butt. "Whew!" she puffed quietly to herself, clearly still pushing her sad human limits. "Looks like I can do three in a day now. An improvement! I'll..." She panted. "Get it done eventually..."

Piccolo perked his ears, hearing her from afar with his excellent hearing. His brow twitched as he stewed in his bothersome guilt. Eventually? At this rate, restoring these landmarks would take the rest of her natural life! After witnessing her technique once, he understood it completely. It wasn't just a spell, it also involved ki.

Piccolo knew what had to be done. Facing the semi-active mountain peaks he'd brought down earlier, he raised a hand and powered-up. He focused on the land before him and sensed the residual traces left over from their pre-existing, natural fused state. Such an ability took a heavy load of control over a moderate amount of ki rather than brute force. But it was also mixed with a re-purposed strain of magic he was familiar with. He conceded that it might not be such bad training in itself. "HAAAAAA!" he yelled-out and released his own Re-emerging Collation Wave, bringing the targeted mountain debris together. Rocks were seemingly teleporting through the air.

Yanked from her rest, Reed crawled to her knees and gaped at what Piccolo was doing. Right before her very eyes, the entirety of nearly a month's amount of work was being done in mere seconds. Gravel shot into place with the intensity of reverse falling stars as multiple mountains were forcefully slapped back together with total accuracy, the line of them growing and towering in the sky. The precious underground channels were resettled beneath their canyons. The massive plateau twinkled, re-emerging from its powdery grave. After the last rocks packed the spires of the semi-active mountain peaks, Piccolo's spell ended and its dissipating energy wave rang through the sky with a brighter and clearer tone than anything she'd ever seen or heard.

Reed rubbed her eyes and then dropped her hands at her sides, her entire concept of magical restoration left in shambles. "Whaaat?!" she yelled out. "What the... Wh… How?!" She gnashed her teeth, shaking away the temptation of jealousy. "I've never seen so many done at once! Is that even possible? Of course... something so incredible just actually happened! How did he even DO that?" She gripped her awestruck noggin, unable to contain herself. "S...strong! He's way too super strong!"

Not sure what to make of such noisy praise, Piccolo looked at her once and turned away. Him? Super strong? Did he have news for her—not that he'd be around much longer to share it. Relieved of his guilt, he flew off.

The witch followed him.

Piccolo tsked, bothered. She gained on him in no time at all.

"What do you want now?" he asked.

She was riding close behind, shiny-eyed and expectant. "I want to talk to you!" she called-out.

Knowing he had to deal with this for it to go away, Piccolo hovered down and landed on one of the mountain peaks he'd just restored. The witch descended after him and they stood face-to-face.

"Really now, there's not much to talk about," Piccolo said. "I only did what I saw you do."

"How?!"

"I... learn fast?" He coughed and regained his wise aloofness. "I've been training for decades as a fighter, steeling my resolve. My limits are different." He scowled.

"Oh, huh," Reed answered. "But how?" She wasn't getting just how different he was, even as he towered over her like a giant string bean.

Piccolo sweated. "Over the years, I've learned that humans have an impressive and unique potential," he began, (vaguely monologuing), in hopes that she'd lose interest and leave, "but in comparison, I'm more specialized in other particular ways, being I'm descended from a world apart. It's a difficult lesson to learn, but this is where it stands. Strength is often an absurd birthright of sorts..." He gripped his arms. "But there are paths beyond that. With constant training, it's possible to attain new heights, regardless of such differences. This is the only explanation I can offer."

The witch appeared troubled. "Well, I can... I mean... I can definitely tell you're up-there. And for it to really factor into your magical abilities..." She held her mouth. "I see, interesting! So it's all because you're a true martial artist." She nodded. "Wow... I really want to become one, too!"

His fangs snapped. Did she even listen? He might've danced around it a bit, but he basically said it was because he's a freaking ALIEN and she's not! And if that wasn't clear-cut enough, the signs were literally right in front of her! From Piccolo's green, pointy-eared appearance alone, anyone else would've cast him as a demon and dropped the conversation (and ran).

"Don't you get it?" he let out, unable to contain his disbelief. "It's all because I'm not human!" He pointed at his face so she could properly understand.

Fidgeting, the witch laughed and raised her hands. "Right, sorry, of course!" she said. "I wasn't trying to be insensitive regarding, uh… oh no." She rubbed the back of her head. "I DID recognize that, too, I just wasn't sure whether I could bring it up, is all..."

Piccolo closed his eyes and bore it all. This was pointless. And just so stupid. If he flew away now and didn't stop, maybe he could escape. It was dastardly, but it was a thought.

"So..." the witch started, aware of the silence she'd brought on. "About what I said before..." She poked her fingers together. "Actually, I..."

Just as he was wondering if her brain could perhaps be broken, Piccolo's ears twitched. In that moment, he heard ten-billion tons of movement rumbling beneath the earth's crust. He moved. Grabbing the witch by the arm, he powered-up and dragged her across the skyline screaming. They gained altitude and distance until the shock wave hit them.

Far behind them, the mountain they once stood on exploded, spilling hot magma and soot in suffocating abundance. Piccolo pulled the witch against him and shielded her with his back as the ensuing force threatened to tear them down.

Smoke pulled in atmosphere-high wisps as the eruption blackened the air—at least until Piccolo's aura burst and swept as much as it could clean. As the threat of volcanic fallout subsided, so did Reed's terror. Through gasps of fresh air, she exited her bubble of hyper-vigilant near-death rage and realized, quite pointlessly, that she was being held in two huge arms.

It was strange. Now that she considered it—she'd never been held so carefully before in her whole life, and abrupt sensations abounded. The all-encompassing warmth. The strange thrashing in her chest.

She sweated like a bagged bread roll left out in the sun.

After a considerable wait, the sooty air settled to a visible haze, and Piccolo flew them back to the ground. As he stood them steady, he pityingly glanced at the shivering witch still glued to his chest.

Truly a sad sight. He had to frown. It was a reminder that Earth's civilians were a wobbly-kneed bunch in constant need of saving.

It couldn't be helped.

"Are you alright?" Piccolo asked anyway, dreading she'd pass out, since that'd present a whole new slew of problems. He waited for a response but none came. The witch's heart was still pounding noisily in his ears, though, so he took that for an answer and let her go.

He half expected her to drop like a rock, but instead, Reed carefully took her footing and stared face-down, very interested in the ground.

Piccolo asked again: "Hey. Can you still hear me?"

Magicking her broom from seemingly nowhere, Reed clutched it close and nodded with a squeak. She hid behind it and turned away.

Piccolo bore his teeth. What an ingrate. Not that he needed any thanks. So the witch finally decided to keep some distance from him. That was understandable. Her heart was still rattling around in her chest and he could sense that she was in a state of disarray, though her mind was still surprisingly shrouded. Well, that worked out in his favor, so he couldn't complain.

"Then. I'm leaving," he said.

As soon as Piccolo took one step into the air, he found himself reeling backwards. He choked, startled by the awful force Reed was now exerting on his already dense cape.

"Hold on!" she cried, tugging. "I didn't say thanks! I mean... I'm sorry, I know it might be sudden, but I... I really have to ask you something!"

Forced to land, Piccolo snarled. "Alright! I'll hear you out, so let go already!" He blocked with an arm.

She released him and he scrambled to regain his composure. It was in that precise moment, as he cautiously backed away, that he noticed it.

The witch's blushing face. Her glowing energy and glistening eyes. "What I wanted to ask," she started, "Is... I... y-you..."

Piccolo realized her lovey-dovey feelings at once and choked. He'd seen this phenomenon before, but never knew he'd ever have to deal with it himself! As it seemed, just because he'd saved her life, the witch had gone and developed some misguided feelings about him! How bothersome... Humans on Earth always clung so desperately to such cliches and sentiments, so much so, that it'd given him a distaste for it all long ago.

Not that he was bitter! (And not that he wasn't aware of love being literally universal.) He just lived apathetic in the face of it. Apathetic... but not clueless. He'd seen love play out plenty of times before—and he'd witnessed its many troubling varieties. His wiser self even knew of it causing entire wars during Earth's long history.

Piccolo closed his eyes as he fell deeper into his internal tangent.

Not that love was totally a bad thing in itself... Sure, it was kind of overrated and pretty asinine, but he knew a handful of people who found true strength and a better way of life through it, along with doting partners. And happy home lives. And peaceful picnic get-togethers. And cute kids.

Not that he cared about any of that!

So maybe there were equivalents to it back on Namek (well, barely), but that was another story for another time.

Regardless of how his psyche had evolved over the years, Piccolo knew he'd always been a loner. And he just wasn't interested.

"Look," Piccolo began, reaching into the depths of his know-how in order to let the witch down easy, "I'm not exactly from Earth..." He'd never dealt with this before, so he figured it'd take some trial and error to master the perfect brush-off.

"Wow! Even better," Reed exclaimed. "That means you know lots of new moves to try."

His eyes betrayed his terror. What did that even MEAN?! "I wouldn't say that!" He grit his teeth and stopped himself from raising a barrier. "I don't think you'll find what you're looking for in me!" It took everything to keep his panic from showing.

She pushed closer, readying her hands. "If this is a test, then I'll go the extra effort. I'll apply myself!" She appeared ready to climb him.

"Wait a moment!" He recoiled as she advanced on him—a ridiculous sight being how small she was in comparison. "You definitely have other, normal options!"

"Absolutely not!" The witch formed an X with her arms and shook her head. "You're the first guy to really catch my eye! It has to be you!"

"Hold on, you might be saying it has to be me, but in reality, you don't actually think that's a good idea. Because... it's not!"

"Yes! It is, I promise!" She clasped her hands together and begged; "I'll work hard, I'll gladly die trying if need be, so please, please!" She shook her hands—as if beseeching luck itself to throw her a winning roll. "Please train me!"

Piccolo froze. "T-train... you?"

It couldn't be. Had he somehow completely misread her?

The witch nodded, her cheeks still blushed and her confusing energy still warm and fuzzy.

No. She was just weird.

Piccolo crossed his arms and scrunched his eyes shut. "Fine. If you're that serious about it, and you're willing to go through absolute hell," he said, "I'll train you." His forehead beaded with perspiration. He knew he was being let-off easy in light of what could have been, but still. He couldn't help but feel disappointed. Somehow.

With his mind wandering towards dejection, Piccolo stared off into the distance. He had to wonder. Wasn't it pointless to measure his self-worth in some Earth measure that just couldn't and would never apply to him, a big green space goblin? And after everything that'd happened to him—after continually being de-regulated to a second-rate warrior despite containing the shadow of a kami, was he really now content with just standing around between brief stints of training, doing nothing, while entertaining bizarre feelings about some hypothetical future happiness?

Actually, a good part of him was used to standing around like this, for centuries in fact, but he was just being facetious.

The witch's voice snapped him out of it. "Are... are we meditating now?" she asked.

He sweated more. "Yes," he emitted, closing his eyes and pretending to reach a state of total zen. He said he'd do it, but was he really going to train her? Wouldn't he have to fight her at some point? What if sparring and grappling got awkward? Sure, she was a witch, but she also seemed like a normal young Earth woman. He could already feel his panic resurging.

Feeling it was tantamount to her training, Reed followed suit and concentrated as well. "Ok," she said, eyes dutifully closed. "But... first, if you don't mind me asking, could you tell me what your school's style is called, or perhaps... your name?"

Put on edge, he found himself blurting it out: "It's Piccolo!"

"I see! My name's Reed Erwitch." She sounded so happy at just being able to manage standard introductions with him. "So what are we starting with today, Great Master Piccolo?"

He flinched. "Alright, first lesson! Don't call me that." If the others heard, they would certainly misunderstand!

"Then, Mister Piccolo?"

"I feel like this has happened before..."

"Teacher?"

He cleared his throat. "Next lesson!" He suddenly decided to assign her a fool's errand. He pointed at the distance. "Destroy one-hundred mountains!"

"Destroy... Mountains?! B-but..."

"Do you have a background in martial arts?"

"Not... completely?" Reed looked discouraged already. She bit her lip and pored over the ground.

"Then you have a whole week to destroy the equivalent of one-hundred mountains," Piccolo said, relieved how this plan was already crushing her will. "If you fail, start over. If you fail twice, the required amount will quadruple to four-hundred mountains just to earn a mere passing grade from me." He knew it was cruel, but he decided that packing her with high-intensity, low risk training would be the best strategy in any case. "Fail after that and you might as well quit."

She said nothing.

Taking her speechlessness as a cue to escape, he raised himself into the air. "I'll be watching your progress," he said, "from afar." He flew off.

Reed quivered, processing the task she'd just been assigned. "Only one week to do what?!" she echoed, the wind fluffing dust across the wastelands faster than her piddly grasp on time could handle.

Flinching, distraught by her short time limit, she faced the nearest mountain and powered-up. Lifting her hands above her head, she squeezed them together. "Wizard," she called out, her teeth clattering out of nervousness, "Cap!" Palms slung out, a blue burst dilated forth and beamed the mountain in the distance. The entire rock crumbled apart into a tidy heap. Out-of-breath already, she reclaimed her broom and re-built the mountain once more. She blasted it again, only to rebuild it. And then again. And again.

At the end of the day, Reed managed to blast and rebuild the mountain fourteen times, a record-breaking effort on her part which dropped her into a coma before nightfall.

The next seven days would truly be her own personal hell.


	2. Wizards Hunting

Six days later, Reed managed to demolish her 89th mountain—an accomplishment which set her right on schedule. Troubled, Piccolo knew he'd have to return to the wasteland where he'd abandoned her. Standing on the edge of a cliff, he focused 200 kilometers into the distance and detected her efforts.

Ever since the witch had undertaken the grueling instruction, her power-level had octupled. Whereas she was once only a small blip on the horizon—a tiny speck amidst the long-range signatures from the others and cities—it was now possible to single her out.

Piccolo had to admit he was proud. Proud, but bothered. If she kept improving at this rate, some of the others might pop in out of curiosity or eventually notice her with him. In fact, it was inevitable during the next stage of training.

He huffed. He could already hear some of their stupid remarks. Crossing his arms, he gave a toothy grimace. He would just have to deal with it, he supposed. It would be another damper on his current lifestyle, but he'd already promised to accept the witch's earnest studentship. And it didn't hurt to have more fodder on Earth's home front. (Also, he had to admit he slightly enjoyed teaching.)

Without warning, five new energy signatures shot into range on the far horizon. Piccolo jolted, his conscience shocked by what he felt. The strange signatures weren't powerful by any means, but their combined strength and unspeakable malice would prove dangerous to their target. The witch.

Piccolo raised his energy and took off in her direction.

* * *

Reed stood in a stupor, panting before the familiar mountain of rubble which now haunted her in her sleep. Destroyed and then whole again. Torn to pieces and then put back together. It taunted her and begged her to end the torture. Bedraggled and plagued with blood-shot eyes, she held her grumbling stomach. "Five... more... mountains!" she told herself, planning to stuff her face after blast number 95 in order to recharge and keep going.

It was then that she heard a familiar voice speak to her: _"Pull back until I get there!"_

The witch blinked. "Great Master Piccolo?" she asked, looking around.

 _"I told you not to call me that!"_

"Oh, right! Sorry." She bowed at no one. "Teacher, are you speaking to me in my head?"

 _"That's right... Listen, we really don't have time for this—"_

"That's incredible! You're like the Old Witch and Old Wizard back home! I knew it, you're undoubtedly strong!"

 _"O-old?! G...Th... Stop getting distracted and pay attention already!"_

Reed jolted at his mental outburst. "Right, sorry, I'm listening!" She bowed apologetically, over and over, at absolutely nothing. "Pull back? To where?" She turned around and took an uncertain step. "What's going on?"

 _"Do you... not feel that?"_

"Sorry, but... feel what?"

Piccolo balked. This witch knew magic and ki fusion but not something so basic? How was that even possible? _"Are you seriously telling me that you can't sense energy?"_

The witch anxiously pressed a finger to her forehead and twisted it there. "In a way, and it sounds familiar... but, you see, to be honest, well, I'm not a very particularly skilled witch... And quite actually, I'm not so good at witchcraft... The worst in my village, actually. Also, I somewhat appropriated the wizard arts, unattended, and not in a very good form, so—"

 _"Alright, forget about all that for now! Right now, I need you to head north-west to where I am."_

"Understood!" Reed hopped on her broom and took off. Whisking through the air, she called out to him: "Teacher! Are you still there? Sorry to interrupt, but is something bad happening?"

As Piccolo sensed the enemies draw closer to her, he scowled. It dawned on him that he'd made a huge mistake by putting such a wide distance between them. _"Something bad happening? Well, yes,"_ he answered her. _"I noticed there's a group of bad guys coming your way..."_

With a gulp, Reed clutched her broomstick and urged it to hurry.

Feeling the witch still wasn't moving fast enough, Piccolo spoke again: _"Didn't you hear me? They're after you! Can't you go any faster?"_

"I'm... I'm trying!"

 _"Isn't that broom dragging you down? Maybe you should ditch it at this point."_

"I'm sorry," she could barely speak out of humiliation, "but I need it to fly!"

 _"Seriously?!"_ How could this witch have such backwards technical progression?!

"Sorry, I'm sorry... I'll train!"

 _"That's not what I'm getting at! And stop apologizing!"_

"Sss... understood!" Reed leaned down and flattened herself against her broom in an effort to lessen the drag. It worked and she zipped further along.

Piccolo felt the distance increase between Reed and the pursuers. She was leaving them behind at last. An inexplicable wave of relief fell over Piccolo. He knew these strangers were related to Reed somehow, still, he felt responsible for drawing them in. "They've made a grave mistake," he said to himself, annoyed that they could stress him out like this. He wasn't the vindictive type these days but he made exceptions.

A pressure struck in the back of Piccolo's skull and he clenched his teeth. "What the?" he spat. The distance between Reed and the enemies vanished. Vanished, because those enemies were now right on her.

"Teleportation?!" Piccolo yelled.

He no longer had any time to get there.

Cornered, Reed swung out-of-control as she slammed her broom to a stop. She did so in order to avoid the figure that'd materialized in front of her. Wearily perching herself on her broom handle, she gulped.

"Long time no see, Witch Reed," the figure said, his kind face smiling deceptively beneath the brim of his steepled, beaten hat. "It's funny how you popped back on our crosshairs like this. Capos was actually just talking about you."

"Wizard Rosin," Reed muttered, her neck turning as she scanned the other three young men surrounding her. "And Wizard Bow, Valb... and Plectru."

The one known as Valb raised his head and laughed. His furious eyes glistened, their intensity hampered by how round and beady they were. "He actually asked us to bring you back!" Valb screeched. "Capos did!"

Reed wrung her broom handle; despite her best control, her muscles were wracked with the deep imprint of their history. "It can't be," she said, knowing the customs of their hometown, "I'm not part of the village anymore, I chose the world. I can't go back." She shook her head, hoping those customs would save her for once. "I won't go back!"

The wizards' knowing smiles made her lurch. Valb further explained. "Lucky for you!" he crowed. "Capos ascended leadership as the village's strongest wizard! And you know what?" He pointed a curled finger at her. "He wants to bring you back."

Reed gasped, her eyes trembling as she instantly went on guard.

"Oh," Bow intoned smoothly, "she wants to fight!"

"Tch," Plectru clicked his tongue, his hands hidden in the pockets of his baggy dark blue robe. "You know, we're not kids anymore," he said with his trademark gloominess. "Sure, it was great fun to kick you around back then, but now that we're adults, it's kind of pathetic, right?" He unsheathed a hand, revealing his fingertips were wrapped in golden blades. "But it looks like you want to make this hard for us. Although, it used to be fun..." A small energy ball flickered before his palm, tripling in size right before Reed's teeth-clattering gaze. "So really." Plectru cracked his neck. "I guess I'm secretly down for it?"

Bow hummed deeply at Reed's terrified reaction. "Oh, now that's the funny face I remember," he commented. "You miss 'training' with us, don't you, Witch Reed?" His energy surged. His long, white hair flailed at his back as he and the other wizards powered-up.

Reed's eyes shot for the ground; before she could dive in turn, Plectru's energy ball struck her and exploded, bombing her straight into the nearby canyon wall. Falling through the rubble, and losing consciousness momentarily on the ground, she coughed and came-to.

A hand reached down and held hers, pulling her to her feet. It was Rosin and his deceptive kindness. Before Reed could react, he slung her off-balance and uppercutted her with a flesh-shattering energy pulse.

Reed yelled-out, coughing up her empty stomach. There was laughter—their laughter, echoing in unison as Rosin socked her again. Reed blocked, her elbow cracking as it was forced out of alignment. She screamed, clutching her dangling arm as she was pummeled to and fro.

"Your reactions, they're so much fun!" Bow said, his smirk uglifying his beautiful face. "This really brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Reed gasped, nursing her arm back into form. As she stumbled aside, Plectru's claws slashed close, cutting her shoulder. She spun away, only to land into an unguarded position.

"Straight in the line of fire!" Valb screeched from afar. "Wizard"—he yelled, starting the blue beam attack in his raised hands.

Bow leapt back a distance, gladly adding onto the incoming beam in power and word—"Cap!"

Reed's eyes glazed over, her body frozen. The wizards' combined blue energy wave was rushing her way across the wastes like an inescapable flood. She knew; such a super-combined Wizard Cap—it was easily worth a hundred of her own.

 _"What are you doing?!"_ Piccolo suddenly cut in: _"Deflect it back with a similar force! You have to block it or else... you're going to die! Come on... you can do this!"_

Regaining her wits, Reed moved. "Yes, teacher!" she yelled, sliding her teetering feet apart and slumping forward. Interlocking her fingers together, she lowered them to her right knee and started an energy ball inside their grasp. "Wizard"—she began, hefting her hands high when the energy flashed and condensed further inside, its light seeping and growing into a giant javelin. Raising it over her shoulder, she served the energy beam and let out its growling modulation—"Killer!"

The Wizard Killer plumed into a forked, green, electric wave as the blue Wizard Cap arrived. Noise slammed the air as both waves struck, their forms twisting and pushing together as they fought for the high ground.

Reed wailed, her feet nearly sliding out from underneath her as she was repulsed by the recoil, her attack falling against theirs. Sensing her wave being overpowered, she bent over backwards. Aiming up, she staggered and slung the crossfire away—a last minute deflection—sending the burning tangle of combined energy Plectru's way.

Bow and Valb ceased charging the shared wave but it was too late. "Look out!" Bow yelled.

"Damn... you!" Plectru rumbled, his finger blades cracking as tried to hold it off. Caught in the flash one moment, he dropped the next, scorched beneath the parting dust.

Bow gasped in disbelief, his white hair still billowing from the surge. Valb resorted to screeching incomprehensibly, like some sort of bird creature.

Reed panted and hunched. She heard feet clamp soil behind her. A sole set of hands clapped, slowly.

"Incredible. At the last moment, you always manage a surprise," Rosin said honestly. "The Wizard Killer. It seems you remembered that one time? You're just like a sponge." He almost sounded happy for her. "And to think you were holding back! I must admit, it's always so exciting to see—" he waved a hand back and forth, sending numerous energy discs spinning her way— "your cheap imitations of our art!"

Reed pitched wildly. "Wizard Shell Blast!" she called-out just to spite him, letting out a volley of ki blasts, exploding Rosin's discs before they could reach her. She blasted a few more his way but he retreated, regrouping with his teammates. With one wizard down, the three rushed at her without restraint.

The wizards teleported in close. Reed blanched, eyes blank as she took a ki pulse to the ribs and then again on the other side. Unable to scream, she coughed out bile instead as Rosin and Valb beat the air straight from her lungs.

"Wizard Thunder!" Rosin stepped aside and called, broiling her with a lightning storm. This left an opening—a trap she stumbled for, frazzled—in which Bow went in next. Grabbing her neck, he clenched it hard and exploded it with a charge, charring her skin beneath his fingers. Weakened, she squirmed, attempting to pry his hand off her neck as he lifted her. With an intent leer, he reset the charge against her throat again and again as her legs flailed, her lungs throttled beyond capacity. No longer able to gasp, she went quiet.

After an agonizing minute, Rosin stepped back. "That's enough," he said, trying to sound concerned. "Capos doesn't want her dead, after all."

Bow and Valb let the witch flop to the ground, defeated.

Valb eyed her for a moment, trilling distastefully at the trouble she'd given them this time. "Hey, you think Plectru's still alive?" he asked the others.

"Oh, I'm sure." Rosin dusted himself off and gave a polite nod. "We'll drag him back as well."

Content with their revenge, Valb hoisted his fallen team mate, Plectru, up by the arm.

Slinging his hair aside, Bow tossed the witch over his shoulder like a grain sack. Despite their loss, they were quite content with their final victory.

That was, until the stillness of the clouds were disturbed.

The wizards froze when they finally felt it. Their eyes bulged in terror.

Rosin spun around to spot the north-western sky. "As explained by our elders, it's one of the world's strongest," he said, intrigued by the strange energy signature. "And it seems he's quite angry, too... Incredible! That killing intent. It's really leaking out…" Rosin almost seemed excited by the potential carnage. "This is certainly a rare encounter."

"Wait a minute!" Valb shrieked, his bugged-out eyes barely contrasting with his round head. "We're not sticking around to greet him, are we? It's forbidden!"

Pondering what the outcome of staying would be, Rosin smiled. "Do you think Capos would approve if we didn't?"

Bow closed his eyes, sweat permeating his high and narrow forehead. "Just zip your mouth and sit tight, Valb," he said, swaggering through his underlying fear, "we'll handle this." He threw the witch aside.

The low sand drifting across the wasteland kicked-up, switching direction and billowing with unnatural ferocity. The loud, oscillating tone of a power drawing nearer increased. Rosin, Bow, and Valb grunted, bracing against the energy storm.

In the shadows of the dust, an imposing figure appeared—bestially tall and demon-eared. With deliberate steps, he approached, white cape fluttering as he walked into perspective. His epauletted shoulders brimmed at a width triple the wizards' own—his height, almost double. All three wizards did a double-take, finally understanding how small they were before him.

Piccolo's voiced boomed out, and in a timbre reasonable for roaring in. "Attacking my student while she's weary from training… Taking her on, three on one… Tch. You're all going to tell me the MEANING of this," he spoke out, "and after I deem your cause worthless... I'm burying you."

Deflated by such an unbelievable sight, Bow yelped and fell backwards onto his elbows. "D-Demon King!" he whimpered, crab-walking backwards, his white hair dragging through the dirt beneath him, "it's The Demon King!"

With a low trill, Valb dropped his comrade's body aside. As impossible as it was, Valb's eyes got rounder. "D-don't be stupid," he hissed, "The Demon King... he no longer lives!"

They both looked to Rosin for guidance, but the malevolent leader was no longer self-aware. His eyes had gone completely blank. He had been thoroughly stripped of his fighting spirit.

Knowing all leadership had switched to him, Valb gulped and forcibly assumed a trash-eating smirk. "T-the... witch..." he said at last, "is property of the magic village." He managed out a chortle. "Heh! You're just an outsider, so stay out of our affairs, freak! Or do you really want to incur the wrath of the entire wizard order?"

Blinding-fast movement peeled aloud and Valb recoiled late. A green fist slammed into his face and sent him soaring. Shooting through a far row of sandstone spires, Valb crash-landed, unceremoniously stirring-up a dirt cloud in his defeat.

Piccolo huffed at the destroyed mountains. He eyed Bow next.

Bow completely lost himself to gibberish. In the end, his cry of terror was cut short as Piccolo shifted-in close and grabbed his forehead with steel-crushing fingers. Returning Bow's own brand of torture, Piccolo squeezed Bow's face and blasted it in four short waves, all before lifting him high and tossing him into the ground. A crater punched-down beneath Bow and rock flew over, tumbling into the hole along with him.

Piccolo eyed Rosin, the last one still standing, thought it was with a broken will. Walking past the blank-faced wizard, Piccolo brained him with the back of his hand, planting him as promised.

Stepping on Plectru along the way, Piccolo searched. There beside a stone heap was Reed discarded on her back, busted and comatose. He knelt down beside her and clutched her cloak, lifting her slightly. "Reed!" he growled, resisting the urge to shake her. "Come on! Wake up!"

Reed remained unresponsive.

Feeling his emotions swelter, Piccolo failed to lock onto her faded ki. He fumbled with himself and instead, he attuned his ears just to hear; that unpredictable heart of hers. It was still beating.

She was still alive.

He breathed sharply. How could he have let this happen? There were so many precautions he could've taken. Yet he didn't. Instead, he distanced himself out of awkwardness. What kind of a teacher was he?

He should've been there. He knew her energy signature could be singled-out now, although, he never expected any strangers to find it.

Strangers with unexpected powers.

On Earth these days, it was supposed to be impossible.

He lifted her. This magic village of Reed's. Where was it? His wiser self remembered such a place existing, but its location was known for shifting like a mirage. If such a place still existed, its inhabitants had obviously learned the art of masking their energy. Those wizards did as such—at least until their bloodlust seeped-out upon their arrival.

Piccolo swept away his thoughts. There was no time for hindsight. He braced Reed close and took off into the sky.


	3. Witchcraft and Wizard Art

Bursting onto the Lookout, Piccolo drew the attention of the other residents. Both Dende and Mr. Popo, who watched from the garden, stood dumbfounded. Setting the witch down, Piccolo glared at them, his intensity weighing them down with shared stress. "Dende, heal her!" he said.

Dende and Mr. Popo sweated, still paralyzed by disbelief, but Dende set to work.

Leaning over Reed, Dende held out his hands and let the gold glow of his healing powers reach her. He focused his antennae and reversed the state of her wounds. But after a half minute, she still hadn't retained consciousness. Something was wrong.

"What's happening?" Piccolo demanded. Why was she still motionless?

Dende stopped. Placing his hands on Reed's shoulders, he then recoiled. "I can't help with this kind of wound!" he said. "We have to hurry..." He looked up at Piccolo. "All this time, she's been turning into stone from the inside."

Piccolo growled for lack of understanding. "But when did she..."

Dende clenched his knees. " _They_ did this."

Piccolo recalled one of the wizards, Plectru, and his freakish finger blades. It was possible that the bastard fortified them with _something_ before slashing Reed.

"Mr. Popo, quick," Dende said, "a senzu bean!"

Nodding in concern, Mr. Popo rushed off.

Caught in the bewildering silence of this predicament, the two Nameks tensed-up further.

"This," Dende began, absolutely understanding everything, "is this a new... friend... of yours?"

Piccolo choked. "S-she's just my student!" he stammered, baring his teeth at Dende's knowing glance. "And I'm simply the one responsible"—he folded his arms and looked down—"for what's happened to her." He visibly struggled with the guilt of the matter.

Mr. Popo returned. "Here it is," he said, presenting the mystical bean with a soul-consuming stare. "This should do the trick... If it makes it down the hatch."

Piccolo grasped the bean and, after a moment of shifty-eyed deliberation—he lifted the witch off the ground. Hauling her for the temple, he left the others behind for a fleeting moment of privacy.

Resettling Reed's head on his lap in the inner chamber, Piccolo knelt close. Holding the senzu bean between his fingers, he stared at it, his forehead tensing. His eyes trailed to the witch's lips and, as his forehead strained further, his fingers nearly squeezed the life-saving bean apart. There were possibilities. If she couldn't even open her mouth, let alone chew it, then he would have to _do it for her_.

Staggered by this, he then frowned. No need! First things first! He just had to feed it to her and go from there. He readied the bean but hesitated. He could feed these to his friends without hesitation. "So why is this any different?!" he blurted to himself, leaning in closer to just to get it over with already. At the last moment, he slowed, gently placing it on her bottom lip and slipping it in.

He watched closely as she chewed—a warm sensation filling his chest. Retrospectively, feeling this way was sorta weird. Actually, it was downright disturbing. But sometimes, and only very occasionally, he had to admit that he found humans kind of cute.

But only in an ugly-cute sort of way!

Reed gulped, her petrification status reversing. Regaining consciousness, she bolted up, nearly colliding into Piccolo's face midway. "AAAAHH—" she yelled from her gut, ready to fight again. "W... Huh?" She stopped, noticing she was no longer dying in the wastelands. "What... happened?

Piccolo overcame his startlement. "It's fine now! I took care of those low-lives while you were out," he explained, lifting her off his lap and nervously coughing into his hand. "Hurry up and tell me, what did they want with you?" He wanted to skip right past all the awkwardness involved in lugging her here and making a scene in front of the others.

Eyes down, Reed clenched the skirt of her robe as she deliberated where the conversation should start. "Those were people from my village," she explained. "They suddenly wanted me to go back there."

"The magic village," he responded, closing his eyes. "A hermit village. Outsiders are forbidden, and those who choose to leave it are banished forever. I overheard. So you made such a choice."

Taken aback by how much he knew, Reed nodded once. "It was the best choice. That village proudly upholds the traditions of two schools: witchcraft and wizard art." She lowered her head. "Despite the wizard art I've learned, I'm a failure at witchcraft. So. It made sense for me to leave that place."

Piccolo didn't quite understand the meaning of these separate schools of magic. "Wizard art?" he repeated.

"Yes," she went on. "In the normal world, there's no exact equivalent term. But wizard art… is something you might call a martial art." She held up her right palm. "Wizards are the village's leaders and warriors. Born with some magic, they possess much more strength and fighting spirit. Blasts and battle spells, super power, material fusion, and recently, flight, are all a part of wizard art curriculum." Reed then held up her left palm. "Witchcraft, however, works through a witch's strong inborn magic. Witches are always busy working on the village! Divination, fortune-telling, remote viewing, astral and dimensional travel, material creation and fusion..." She counted on her fingertips. "Witchcraft has all that. Also, potion brewing."

Piccolo folded his arms and concentrated on these details. These "schools" sounded similar to the clans on Namek, though there was something distinctly Earth-like about the way they were divided.

In any case, from divination to creation magic, witchcraft sounded like the bigger deal to him. All the martial arts in the world couldn't compete with the kind of magic that fulfilled wishes (even if he ultimately chose the former). If this witch couldn't attain all that, then it was no wonder she left... and that she considers herself a failure.

As Piccolo considered the witch further, he watched her untie her baggy, tattered robe and drop it on the floor. Underneath was just an off-shoulder bodysuit. Literally, the only other article of clothes between her bikini line and her boots were socks.

He nearly fell over. "W-why are you undressing?!" he roared, threatened that another layer would fall.

With a small frown, Reed surveyed the battered robe on the ground. "Because... A witch robe really gets in the way," she said. "I was too slow when I tried to fly away earlier... Even though I'm a witch, I'm bad at the broom, and I can't even perform buffs to make up for it." She took out her stick, now wand-sized, and pointed it at the robe and concentrated. "Paloosha!" she said her magic word, frowning intensely. Flashing from the magic blast, the robe let out a puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared, a big, pink bean bag chair appeared. It was shaped exactly like a brain, wrinkles and all.

Reed screeched.

 _"Was she... trying to remake it?"_ Piccolo wondered, perturbed by the witch's total failure _._ But into _what?!_

Falling onto her hands and knees, Reed trembled. "So it's like this," she explained. "I've never been very good at witchcraft. Apparently, it's because the Old Witch ruined the brew when she made me. By accident, she knocked in a whole bottle of snails, smack into the cauldron, right when she reached for the spices..."

It was now Piccolo's turn to petrify halfway between life and stone. Made from a brew? Cauldron? That wasn't how Earthlings were made! He worried. Had Reed been told this all her life as some kind of messed-up joke? He folded his arms and sweated, resisting the urge to follow up on her with some actual facts. No, he wasn't one to talk. He was literally born from a giant egg.

Reed went on: "Despite what I am, I was born with a low magic level. One deemed similar to a wizard's." She clenched her knuckles against the chamber's white ground. "Because I was such an embarrassment, the other witches gave up on me." She virtually melted right there. "And the wizards used me for target practice at every possible chance." She recalled the years she spent sprawled in the dirt as she was pummeled and slammed with blasts. "But, in spite of all that, I made it. And through all the pain, I began to learn. That I am not like a doormat, or even a sponge..." She lifted her chin high and reveled in her resilience. "But like a _boomerang_."

Briefly weirded-out by all her inspirational analogies, Piccolo slouched in deep thought. He recalled the blast attacks Reed had used during her fight. All of them had those ridiculous Wizard names. So those skills of hers were absorbed during a lifetime spent as a punching bag? Though it proved she was gifted with an innate fighting sense, he couldn't feel happy for her. It seemed that she had also lived her life as an outcast.

He scowled.

Underneath her veneer of air-headed good cheer, he was starting to see the mineralized cracks from her iron-handed schooling. If only he'd known she already had the means, if only he hadn't underestimated her, he would've given her a strategy to finally fight back with.

Raising herself up, Reed stood on her feet. "If he's after me like they say, I can't stay here. Wizard Capos is as cruel as he is powerful," she said, her gaze wavering from an unknown terror. "There's only one option for me now. I'll return to the science institute and then... " She turned her wand stick into a broom. "And then I'll have them build me a rocket ship to outer space!"

"You're running away... by leaving the planet?!" Piccolo exclaimed, overwhelmed by her neverending whims. How was she just ok with all this?!

She stared at him, her eyes tinged with regret. "I'm sorry, Teacher… but I'm quitting, completely." She bowed. "I said I'd do anything, but standing against Capos, even with your support, is impossible." She grasped her knees as she glared at the ground. "I'm a coward, I know, but I never want to face him again." She shook her head. "Today I had a bad time, though I'm sure those wizards were nothing for you. But it just doesn't and won't ever end there. In comparison, those wizards posses mere particles of Capos's insane strength..."

Piccolo narrowed his eyes, spurred on by this challenge, yet keeping silent to hear the end of it.

"In the magic village," she said, "the elders can peer past the horizon and weigh the might of everyone on Earth. Capos was tested and it was determined that he," she paused, "is among the world's strongest."

Piccolo only vaguely understood the meaning of these words. To him, the world's strongest were Earth's defenders—the ones he called comrades, and sometimes even friends. If that was how it was, and how it'd always been, then why, and how, had he never seen this dumb wizard around?

As Reed turned to walk away, Piccolo grabbed her broom and pulled it away. "Confiscated," he huffed. He held it high over his head, intentionally making it unreachable.

Reed made a noise like she was trying to inhale a marble.

"The lesson isn't over," he went on. "If you won't fight him, I will." With an effortless sling, he speared the broom straight into the bright white void beyond a star, it hit the horizon and sparkled. Audibly.

"Pffaa?" Reed ejected, unable to believe anything he'd just gone and done. "Don't you understand? There's no need to fight him! Capos's strength defies all logic! Energy-wise. Magic-wise!" She shook from head to foot. "If I leave Earth, he'll return quietly to the village. Everything will return to normal... He'll go back his duties!" She jumped at Piccolo even though he no longer held her precious stick. "So give me back my broom!"

Piccolo scoffed and glowered at her, instantly scaring her into standing down. "So you'll disappear forever, just like that?" he asked. "So you're fine with running away… From your studies? From your goal of restoring the world's mountains?" He had to snuff at her lack of willpower, it was amazing how this weak side-character even finagled his support. "Do you even realize how insulting this is? What did you think I could teach you if you had such little faith to begin with?"

Reed couldn't answer any of his questions. "I'm," she gulped, "sorry for wasting your time. I have no excuses." She had completely given up. Given up, in a sense, though her inner turmoil revealed that she still had something left unsaid.

Piccolo could sense it. "I, too, have powers that defy logic," he said. "And I know you have at least one good excuse for abandoning your goals—for running away. And I deserve to hear it." He folded his arms. "You never explained it properly. Just what does Capos want with you?"

Reed held her breath for a moment. And then her shoulders slumped when she spoke: "I used to have a little brother. His name was Cork." Her fingers dropped at her sides. "Like me, he also came out all wrong... He was magical, like a witch. The wizards made fun of him, too, but..." She stopped, worthlessly alienating herself.

"Capos," Piccolo blurted, knowing.

"Yes," Reed said. "Capos always wanted power, more than anyone. So he stole the village's magic tome… And then he performed a taboo act." Arms folded over herself, her fingers grasped her shoulders. "He pulled the soul from my brother's body and threw it away, like trash. Capos then fused with his body. Just his body," Her eyes re-lived the image of her brother's soulless husk being pulled away. "That was the one time we stood up to Capos together. The last time."

Piccolo tensed, his pulse jumping. Uninvited fusion was a gruesome variety of evil, he knew all too well. But completely discarding half the victim beforehand? Their entire soul—as if they were just some bad side dish? Thinking about it made him nauseated. "So now you're afraid," he said, "that Capos will do the same to you?"

Reed shook her head. "No." She paused. "I'm afraid of what will happen afterward."

He could feel his blood burning. "And if you leave, and if I hide, do you really think anything will change? If he's as power hungry as you're saying, he won't stop, and he'll go straight for the next course… the world's strongest that you mentioned. Do you really think he's the first to try it? That's just how monsters work. Believe me, this situation is nothing new."

Reed stared at her feet. "I know I'm underestimating Capos... But still!" She searched for the chamber's exit. "If I can cancel his plans just by walking out, then I'll—" She stopped mid-sentence.

Strange how she just then noticed how bright and expansive the space outside the room's foyer was. A wide, blindingly white dimensional pocket loomed beyond. It was so immense in scale, she initially thought it was Earth's sky draped in an unnaturally white fog. "This is…" she stammered, losing her sense of direction. "Where are we again?"

Piccolo turned away. "The Hyperbolic Time Chamber," he answered.

She did a double-take. "The-the what now?" She shook. "It exists? It's not just a legend?!"

"I'm not sure what legends you're familiar with, but it's—"

"—the ultimate in time dilation magic!" Reed zoomed onto the foyer's edge. "It's said that one must be an amazingly strong wizard of incredible mastery in order to make one!" She observed the space outside, her fists held tightly under her chin. "Who made this one?!"

Piccolo coughed. "Well, initially, I made all of this, but it's complicated. A new kami has since taken over and—"

"—You're a kami?!"

Piccolo sweated. "Was," he answered. He suddenly had an awful feeling. What would Reed think of him if she knew he'd coerced his kami self into re-joining him? Sure, it was done complete, body and soul, and for the perceived good of the Earth at the time (selfish needs aside), but what if she thought it was... Hold on, since when did it matter what she personally thought about him? And why did he feel the need to shamelessly credit himself here?

"Was?" Reed echoed Piccolo's last statement, hanging on for the conclusion. "You used to be a kami?"

Piccolo pushed aside his inner commentary and decided to be honest. "I'm also something of a monster," he laughed lowly, avoiding her gaze. "Judging by how those wizards reacted, it seems your village is acquainted with Demon King Piccolo."

Reed gulped as the memories of horrible visions from decades prior came flooding back. Young for a witch, she was old for an Earthling, so she had some recollection, however vague. "Of course… That Piccolo… King Piccolo." She held in chin in thought as she wondered why she didn't recognize him sooner. (The reason for that might've been that she spent most of her youth in a half-beaten stupor.)

"You might not know this," Piccolo said, "but King Piccolo was an evil fission. A fission from Earth's last kami." He folded his arms. "Now this may sound complicated, but when King Piccolo was defeated, he released the last living remainder of himself... and I was born."

Reed blankly pointed at him. "Heh?" she emitted.

"Do you understand now?!" Piccolo yelled, causing her to "eep" in fear. "From birth, I've lived with his purpose. In rebirth, I chose to turn my back on all that and defend the world instead... Along the way, I traveled to my homeland and absorbed yet another self." He clenched his fists. "But it wasn't enough. In the end, I still caved into my father's ambitions! In the end, I feared death and desired strength." He turned aside. "And for that, I absorbed my other half, Kami. This fusion is what you see before you today."

Reed muttered to herself from a safe distance away.

He remained aloof and removed. This was it. He knew it. She had already judged him.

"So that's how it is..." Reed muttered to herself. "A fission reincarnation? One who retained a clone of its good half at birth. Combined with a surrogate." She held her chin in thought. "It IS possible as a random mutation... I see!" She was actually scribbling a well thought-out diagram onto the floor with a pencil. "And then, you… recombined with the original kami?" She drew a line. "Yes! That would be possible..."

Piccolo closed his eyes and ignored her speculation. "That's what I decided to do back then. In a way, I forced Kami." He laughed wryly. "Although, he knew he didn't have much time left, anyway." He turned aside, waiting for her to sort him as a villain.

Instead, the witch began to exude a flood of bubbly, confusing emotions. Piccolo turned right in time to dodge her jumping him.

"A kami!" she blurted, falling face-first to the ground. "A real, good-turned reincarnation of The Demon King—I knew it!" She shot back up, shuddering at how awesome this apparently was. "It makes sense why I was blinded by your art!" Her fingers grabbed his and locked on.

"Grgh?!" he spat, baffled by her bone-shattering grip strength.

"I understand now why it had to be you! This can work... Just meeting you has changed everything in ways I don't even understand yet." She let go and clutched a fist to her chest. "You're right. I can't run away anymore. I want to restore the world's mountains. I want to get stronger! I just have to have more faith in what can be accomplished. And to do that, I must follow you." Her face lit-up. "No more messing around. No more running away! If I ever fall again, I'll curse myself with the crafts of Hell's twenty-four residing witches." She pulled out her pencil and symbolically poked it at her wrist. "I'll fight myself into shape." She punched deliberately. "So please! Forgive this foolish student." She bowed. "Please train me again!"

With a huff, Piccolo stole her pencil. "Before all else, you'll scrub that graffiti off my chamber floor!" he yelled, pointing at the chicken-scratch marring the fine, once-pristine surface. He then speared the pencil off into the distance. It sparkled. Audibly.

Reed furiously scrubbed the floor with her witch hat. "I'm so sorry!" she cried. "I forgot this was your house!"

Piccolo glared, still recovering from such complete mood whiplash. "What a troublesome student," he grumbled, his mouth twitching as he struggled to keep from showing any amusement. "I suppose I'll let you off, since you're still learning. Next time, though, you're on your own, so don't push my patience any further."

She finished erasing her work and nodded with gusto.

He managed to regain a serious face and continued: "Now, first things first." He raised a hand to her and shot her with an energy beam.

Reed gasped, having blocked. When she opened her eyes, however, she found herself in a purple sleeveless gi much like his. "Wow… This is," she murmured, "this is your school's uniform?" She looked over her shoulders. "Uh. I… Don't I get a cape?"

Piccolo uncharacteristically exploded: "You haven't earned it!"

She balked at his outburst. "Yes teacher!"

"Although..." He glanced her over. "Isn't that uniform heavy enough for you?"

Reed blinked and then took a cautious but unhindered step forward. "I feel a bit heavier." She looked around. "A gravity curse?"

Piccolo chuckled at her ignorance. "Keep it up and you might earn your cape earlier than expected. Still…." He glanced at the threshold between the room and the expansive whiteness beyond the ledge of the tiled foyer. "Take a step out there," he said. "Watch yourself."

Crossing the threshold outside—a single step down—Reed hunched from the heavy pressure and nearly fell over. "Urg! It's difficult," she let out, "to breathe all of a sudden!"

"It's surprising you're only just now noticing it. Though, as a geologist, you're already familiar with the heavier gravity of the outer wastelands. It's no wonder you acclimated so readily."

Reed sweated, perturbed by the realization that Piccolo, as a past kami, likely knew more about the Earth than she did. "I… see," she emitted, still adjusting to the weight. "And now?"

Piccolo walked past her with ease. He stopped and signaled her to come his way. "Attack me," he said. "With everything you have."

"Everything?!"

"Don't worry, I'll hold back. I'll stay on the ground where you can reach me." He readied his footing and resumed a relaxed fighting stance—one that told her he didn't take her all too seriously. "You must've replayed that last battle in your mind by now," he said. "Given hindsight, a fighter will judge what moves and strategies should've been utilized against the enemy." He stood motionless as his aura oscillated sharply and spat out two whole clones of himself. "So show me how would you have won that last fight..." His two clones leapt back in different directions. "Given that you actually could." He scoffed at this, confident in his outcomes.

She'd never been as such.

Clutching her fists, heart pounding at his challenge, Reed leapt forward and braced. "Wizard"—she yelled, arms folded over her—"fire!" A heat wave raised off her back and several dozen fireballs flew from her nape. Launching straight up, they swerved out and slammed down over her teacher.

Perceptive to what was coming, Piccolo already leapt back, further noting to himself that wizards seemed to have an arsenal of quick aerial attacks at their disposal. The fireballs boomed down before him and his clones, razing the ground with walls of smoke and fire. It effectively separated them. "Not bad," he said, sensing her nearby and watching the dense haze closely.

Emerging from the smoke, Reed leapt from the blind spot behind Piccolo's fluttering cape and attacked, though he had no delay in intercepting her flurry of fists. Denying her any ground, he spun-kicked her back into the smoke, his fine-tuned senses being the only thing guiding their distance.

"Wizard Vine!" Reed called-out from the smoke, her spell stretching the ground with giant tendrils of plant greenery, their leaves and runners catching on magical fire.

Piccolo escaped from their path on foot, keeping his promise not to fly. The smog thickened and he gave up his sight. Instead, he listened to and sensed Reed's position. An oncoming energy beam—a Wizard Cap—made him snap around. On contact, he batted it away like a small annoyance. "Her judgement is better than I thought," he mused to himself. "If she'd done this to them back then, she actually might've won." He stopped fleeing and changed direction; he was going straight for her. "That is, if they didn't already have a sufficient counter!" He held his arms out, one higher than the other, and mirrored his palms, electricity encircling him as he powered-up. "Destructive"—he yelled out, "Wind!" A cyclone laced with energy shot out and funneled through the air as his clones mirrored him. Now multiplied, a trio of cyclones tore away at the smog, dismantling any advantage Reed had gained.

As the area cleared, Reed stood right before the real Piccolo, her hand held high. "Wizard Aqua," she called, "Thunder!" Geysers surged from an unknown source across the blank hell space and lightning crashed down, coursing through the mixing amalgamation of plant, soot, and water.

A bright white flame lit upon Piccolo, exploding in a deafening roar and dragging him back on his heels a hundred meters as he guarded. "Plasma?!" he exclaimed, unable to understand how it was formed in such a mishmash attack. How long had it been since he'd seen someone fight with something other than brute power? He'd almost forgotten that science could be fused with magic. "A little alchemy in the middle of a fight... trying to earn extra-credit, I see." He had no time to break down her work. A slithering green energy burst was flashing in the distance.

"Wizard," Reed called out, hiking up the blast, "Killer!" The beam cleared the expanse and went right for him.

Piccolo regained footing. Raising two fingers, he sent his two clones in after her, forcing Reed to cease feeding her beam just to fight back against their rapid strikes on all sides. In the meantime, Piccolo deflected the killer beam up with a simple chop. He moved in.

Side-stepping most of the clones' attacks, Reed brought both arms down across herself to block a small ki blast and an energy pulse from below, which ripped her off her feet and sent her flying and rolling across the ground like a rag doll. Panting, with most of her magical reserves used-up, she forced herself to stand and conjure her next spell: "Wizard Blizz—" she stopped and noticed countless energy spheres hovering mid-air around her. She grit her teeth as she saw it all coming down.

Piccolo's energy blasts rained down on her and she flung her arms rapidly, countering the best she could with a volley of wizard blasts. Despite her efforts, three energy blasts made contact. They exploded on impact, her body blown further across the chamber, flopping to the ground and skidding, most of her new uniform disintegrated by the relentless force. As she remained on her back, wheezing for breath through the rampant dust and smoke, Piccolo and his three clones surrounded her.

She winced, forcing herself to stand once more. Moving thoughtlessly, her scuffed body conditioned to senseless violence, she bent low and braced her palms near her knee and began forming yet another super wave. "Wizard Kill—" she gurgled when she felt it—one of Piccolo's clones socking her in the gut, "—grrk!" Her knees caved and she fell forward.

Piccolo caught her in the crook of his arm as she fell. "And that," he intoned, "is why you never charge a wave at point blank." He frowned, disappointed that she lost her wits and resorted to such a desperate move upon being cornered. "Well… unless you know what you're doing." As her breathing changed, he finally realized she was out. He huffed and dissolved his clones. "Not too shabby. You passed. It seems you have good senses after all." He draped her over his arm like a flimsy tea towel and continued speaking to her, despite her state. "Using up your limited magic first as a distraction, just to cover your patchy fighting skills... You worked well with what you had."

He now felt the strong desire to hone those skills of hers. In just a short time, all his uncertainty about her had vanished, replaced with promise.

As Piccolo lifted Reed for the chamber bedroom to let her sleep it off, she nearly slipped off his arm. As he dove to catch and pull her closer, it finally struck him. Despite her strength, she was disturbingly soft. Plush, even, like some kind of jelly creature. It was far different from the tensed muscles he'd often tug while lugging a friend back from a fight.

In a way, it felt _nice_.

He pushed the thought away. "We'll resume training in the morning," he continued, as if speaking to the unconscious witch made things any better. Depositing her on a random bed, he glanced at her ragged form once more.

He twisted away. The heat began to rise in his face.

"OK, this will be a problem!" Piccolo yelled, unable to shelve the feeling that he'd done something wrong. Minutes into a fight, clothes are blasted off, that was a given. He'd seen it plenty times before and it wasn't a problem then. So why was it bothering him now? Unreasonable!

Still, he meekly covered his eyes as he beamed her with a new uniform.

As he turned to leave and resume his own training, he stopped to nerve-wrackingly remind himself: they would be here together, alone, for the next year. And it would be best to not to think too much about it.

* * *

 **Author's note: This story is so weird. I'm sorry.**


	4. Just Add Water

Sitting in the air-distorting heatwave on the outskirts of the time chamber, Piccolo remained, eyes closed as he attempted his meditation. Against his better judgement, he'd gone ahead and let his mind wander about the witch. Who she was, and why she'd even agreed to stay in this brutal training space with him... For knowledge, for the future, possibly to get to know him. That was just their reality now. He brushed the last possibility aside. There were more pressing things. His training.

Wasn't the witch awake yet?

Walking back into the homey interior of the antechamber room, he gazed at Reed's sleeping figure on the third canopy bed. He huffed, impatient, or perhaps disappointed. "Well, she's still a human, I suppose," he told himself, understanding she wouldn't spring back doubly-strong from her training in five minutes, like a Saiyan would.

She'd been asleep for four days.

In the beginning, Piccolo worried that he'd knocked her back to the precipice of death. However, after the first hour, she started showing healthy signs again. Normal breathing. A steady heart rate.

"It's not... basaltic," Reed muttered, talking in her sleep. "It's... gabbroic."

Closely watching the witch dream about rocks like the nerd she was, Piccolo began to sweat at levels that exceeded those during his heatwave training. He reached out and closed the curtains on her bed. Walking away, he pulled open the neck of his gi to cool himself down, an action which reminded him that he was already less than optimally fresh.

He was instantly overwhelmed with an obnoxious memory.

"Hey Chi Chi, I'm home," Goku yelled from the ghost of some distant memory. "I'm really hungry, I'll take whatever's on hand!" Goku stood in the doorway of his own house as the aura of two weeks worth of training emanated from him as an incredible stench. Mud flopped from his boots and onto the sparkling clean floor. Piccolo remembered because he himself had just helped Chi-Chi clean it.

At that moment, however, Piccolo had been busy preparing a salad, as he often did at their house on Sundays, so he knew well enough to stay where he was, safe at the counter. A good call, as Chi-Chi rumbled and soon reached critical mass. "Gooooku!" she screamed, shaking the house with her voice and walloping her husband over the head with a raised fist, "what have I told you about washing-up before coming in?!"

Goku hunched and nursed the bump raising on his scalp, thoroughly surprised. "I swam most of the way here, though!"

"Ohh! You already know that doesn't count!" she growled as she grabbed the back of his pants and ripped them away. "Now STRIP and get the BUCKET."

Goku shrieked and took off outside when Chi-Chi charged him, his pants still in-hand.

Minutes later, Chi-Chi was extolling the benefits of scrubbing, as she loudly did as such, with Goku sounding as if he were drowning in the process.

"And don't forget that it's my problem too," Chi-Chi went on, loud enough for the whole house to hear, "dealing with a filthy man is the worst thing in the world!"

Remembering this cautionary tale clearly, Piccolo stared at the soapy scrub brush in his hand. Now standing in the time chamber's only bathroom, he unceremoniously dumped a bucket of water over his head and then stepped through the blanket of steam and into the soaking tub.

Though he'd eventually figured out self-care despite his wild beginnings, Piccolo had to admit that he sometimes got lazy. Well, he had his reasons. Spend five days sitting under a waterfall and you'll eventually realize that you just took the longest depression shower ever. Why wash your clothes when you can just blast them and bring a fresh set into existence?

Why wash yourself if you can just decapitate half your body and re-grow a new one? (Ok, so he hadn't done this intentionally yet, but he'd entertained the thought.)

Indulging in his inane thoughts, Piccolo closed his eyes and soaked himself in the obnoxiously hot water. Sure it was a relief on his sore muscles, but he couldn't shake the opinion that it would be better if it was at least three degrees cooler. Scratch that, it'd be great if it could be chilled down to freezing. There wasn't even a dial to regulate the heat on the ridiculous thing. It was magic. Also, the tub was way too small. Weird, seeing as how he used to be able to just dive into the thing. As he abruptly realized that it must've been all Dende's fault, the bathroom door slid open.

Alarmed, Piccolo glared at the person standing before him.

It was the witch, finally risen from her slumber, of all times, and cemented in the doorway. Likely still half-asleep, she beheld him with an illicit mindlessness.

Piccolo froze as Reed's expression changed. He thought he saw a slight smile there, and sensed a surge of evilness, but it was hard to fully decode her through the thick steam. Actually, it was just difficult to decode mages in general. She was also particularly dense. (In many ways.) After awhile, he began to wonder if she was under the delusion that she was hidden from his view... and if she was trying to play some kind of dumb trick on him.

He proceeded to act unphased.

"Good, you're awake. I need a few more minutes," he said, glad to finally hear her squeaking and recoiling at being caught. "Go eat something, you've been down for days." He waited, his mind still churning over what she was even still doing there for. "Oh, right. There's plenty of food in the kitchen. You can also have my share." He reached for his towel but stopped. "What? Did you want something?" His brow tensed moment-by-moment as she continued standing in his naked presence, staring.

"N...no! Excuse me," she apologized frantically, closing the door as she left.

As soon as the door closed, he held his burning face. Slumping down into the water in embarrassment, he sat there for nearly a half hour longer than expected, all until he shot up, dried, and dressed himself.

Not-at-all mentally prepared yet, he flung the door open and scowled. Investigating the antechamber room as he'd left it, he now found it unchanged and uninhabited—save for a small saucepan on the stove. Scrutinizing it, he found it contained a hard block of noodles sitting in lukewarm water. Perplexed by this lack of culinary progression, he snapped the burner on.

"Where did that witch even go?" Piccolo wondered aloud, bothered by such a sign. "This will never cook if she leaves it like this." He donned a tiny apron and proceeded to chop vegetables.

Several minutes into lunch's preparation, Reed ran into the room, panting, her broom now in hand. When she saw Piccolo working at the counter, she halted.

He regarded her with a half-scowl. "Already venturing out there all by yourself," he said, turning away to stir the pot, "that must mean you're prepared for the next trial of Hell." His words were menacing, even as he ladled soup broth into a little sauce dish and sipped it.

Reed panicked and held her broom high, hiding behind it. "Well… yes. I'm prepared to continue the training now!" She pulled her mouth taught. "My stick hadn't magically reappeared in my sleeve yet, as it should, so I—" she stammered— "I went out and found it while lunch was soaking!"

Piccolo grimaced at hearing such a disturbing term used for edibles. Soaking? What was it, soiled laundry? A burnt pot? At least say _marinade_. He left his work just to stare her down.

She looked up at him curiously.

Feeling his frown dissolve before such wide-eyed deference, he huffed and gently took ahold of her broom. Full of trust, she let go. As he studied its handle with careful consideration, he raised the broom high and—winding it back—chucked it for the horizon. It broke the sound barrier with a boom and a star twinkled, wherever the heck it went.

Reed made a noise like her lungs had folded inwards. It seemed she never really learned.

"Well! You don't need THAT anymore," Piccolo said, crossing his arms in order to bear her pitiful sobbing. "Because you're going to learn how to fly. And also, basic ki mastery, which you lack due to your reliance on spells... so forget that crutch and distraction of yours and get over it."

Biting her lips to stop her bawling, Reed puffed out her cheeks instead. "Ok, but I was going to use that 'crutch' to finish my lunch..."

He had to snort at her magical-dependency. "It's done already."

"Oh?" She was so surprised, she regained her usual cheer. "So that's what that good smell was!" Her praise made him smile smugly. As she approached the boiling pot, she halted in reluctance. "It still looks pretty hot, though..."

"Actually, it needs to be stirred. Could you?"

Reed flinched away from the pot and held up her hands. "No, I couldn't! You do the honors!"

"Really, it's about to burn."

As she turned off the burner instead, Piccolo moved in closer, grabbed the ladle, and put it in her hand. "Hey!" he exclaimed, set-off by her constant wishy-washiness. "Start doing things by your own hand!"

She squeaked. "Y-yes, but if I stir this, the soup will literally be ruined—"

"—It's time to stir!" And so he grabbed her arm and helped her.

As they stirred, Reed wrenched her eyes shut and let out a miserable warble. In just two seconds, the delicious caramel-colored soup burbled and spun out magenta and orange wisps. It suddenly appeared as if it'd been spiked with several dumpings of poisonous vomit.

Startled, Piccolo let go of Reed's arm and closely observed the pot (as she slunk away). As his hands hovered over it, unsure of what was even going on, the soup unexpectedly went dark and emitted the aroma of overripe mustard and burnt rubber. Piccolo grunted in mystification and then, disgust, as its magical aura of fumes overwhelmed him. Searching Reed for an explanation, he spotted her now clear across the room, hunched against the wall with her back turned to him. She emitted a similar poisonous aura. "If it's hot and full of quality ingredients... if I mix it, everything I touch," she intoned, "turns to garbage." The aura around her darkened, hastening whatever cursed decision she'd just made. "I should just die."

"IT'S JUST SOUP!" he bellowed, stressed-out beyond belief.

Working to de-escalate lunch, Piccolo dumped the gross soup down the sink and out of memory—and then dug through the fridge. Retrieving a platter of roasted giant bird legs and fine cheese, he slammed it on the counter.

Forgetting all about her urgent desire to die, Reed consumed a gross amount—which pleased Piccolo, as it meant she'd made gains from her training.

After cleaning-up the dishes and encouraging Reed to bathe and rest, Piccolo set off for the depths of the time chamber.

To recover her crutch. And maybe apologize.

Back in the antechamber bathroom, Reed had already begun bathing. Sitting on a low bath stool, wrapped in a suit of suds, she finished soaping her hair into a puffball of lather and then dumped a bucketful of water over top. She remained oblivious to the sudsy water pooling-up in the stopped-up floor drain below. A horrific deep gray goo breathed beneath the circular grate.

"Whew," Reed said to herself. "Thank goodness this place has a bath." Winding back a stiffened arm, which popped and creaked like a roulette wheel, she stood up and overlooked the burbling soaking tub. Stepping in, she recalled her spying from earlier and dropped. She sunk down into the water like a stone and blushed. "It's the same water…" she muttered to herself, certain he hadn't drained it. She went redder. As she recalled, his legs were somewhat too long for the tub. In comparison, she could fully stretch hers out. As her mind began to wander, her attention sunk further into depravity.

The thoughts built up and Reed clasped her face. Unable to contain herself—her nose spurted blood. "I'm sitting in the exact same spot!" she let out, her ensuing cries ping-ponging between pleasure and pain. She writhed in frustration over her newest affliction—and also the fact that she was now both pathetic AND a pervert.

She couldn't lie to herself; she'd been purposefully peeping earlier. Of course it all started as an earnest effort to find the bathroom, but it led to her scoping her mentor out. His deeply-built green back… Those pointy demon ears and corrugated plate armor biceps reminiscent of extraterrestrial hellspawn... She hated to be a stereotypical witch, but it made her feel funny. She was already beyond help.

No... she couldn't tell anybody about this!

Wait! Of course she still took her training seriously! She had to... no, she wanted to get stronger, more so than ever! Especially now that she finally lucked out and found an actual martial arts master. Because. There were more important things to worry about.

Really... From the moment she'd awoken, the worries had only grown in the back of her mind. The first concern! Attaining a strength that would put her and her teacher on equal footing with the enemy. The second and last ones? The promising glimmer of awaited judgement. The fear of failure. The mystery of what the enemy had planned for her... This matter was between life and death!

But she had been drawn-in from the moment she'd first seen her teacher's magic. And it was only getting worse... She wondered if she was simply becoming a fanatic blinded by how cool he was. She sighed deeply. "It'd be nice," she said to herself quietly, "if we could just stay in this place... long enough to get on good terms."

As she mulled this simple fantasy over, she realized its foundations were shaky and its form, well, impossible. She recalled how Piccolo only begrudgingly accepted to train her, as well as how weary and snappish he was with her. From a critical standpoint, he CLEARLY found her unbearable, and any patience extended to her was obviously fueled by pity and absolute necessity.

Her head slunk forward. Warming in the hot water, she went quiet for a good while, too ashamed to allow herself tears. How conceited of her. Instead of burdening him with her mortifying personal feelings, she decided that from then on, she would pour them into focusing on her training instead. Praise from him would be more than enough.

She clutched a fist and closed her eyes in conviction. "I won't stray ever again," she swore to herself. "I'll be a true martial artist!"

Out near the bath stool, unbeknownst to Reed, the gray goo in the drain extended a tendril up through the grate, draining the puddle of wash water that once stood around it. Abrupt gurgling sounded as the goo receded.

Reed opened her eyes. "Hm?" she uttered, searching the bathroom for the noise. Had she left the water on? Scanning wall to wall, she stopped when she saw it.

There was no mistake. She jumped out of the water, eyes wild.

Right before her was none other than! Piccolo's bath towel, hanging on a wall hook.

Fixated on this questionable find, and knowing exactly what she was going to do with it, Reed leapt from the tub and grabbed the towel. "This is definitely it," she said, totally forgetting all about the strange noise just then—and her pure conviction. "This is the towel from earlier…" She confirmed it based on its light blue color. Shaking in nervousness, she slid it across her back and then draped it around her bottom. As she blushed from head to foot, oblivious to the unknown threat lurking in the bathroom alongside her, she finally realized something.

She nearly dropped the towel in horror.

She caught it before it hit the floor and almost screamed, but it was too late. "No!" she burst. "This is…" She quivered. "I am..." She tried to escape it. "I'm nothing but a disgusting, low-life towel thief!" She smothered her sobs with the fine cotton fiber, unable to accept what she'd become.

Paralyzed by the thought that if Piccolo ever found out, he'd be so repulsed that he'd punt her back to Earth—she jolted. "Heh?" she emitted. Something warm and squishy had slapped around her ankle. She stared down at the tendril. And then at its long, snaky base slurping out from the floor drain. Too stunned to scream, shadow fell across her face as her feet were pulled out from under her.

"I refuse to be tried for my crimes!" she yelled, gripping the floor and wailing as the disgusting horror constricted her thighs further. She clawed forth and made an incantation. "Wizard Blizzard!"

Skull-sized hail rained down throughout the bathroom, spilling across the floor and breaking into chunks. Directing the spell, Reed pointed high and a massive ice crystal formed in mid-air and smashed down on the tendril, severing it from her leg. The monster roared from somewhere far off, its voice shaking the ground.

Reed scurried free and shivered in the frozen bathroom. "What is this, where's it even coming from?" she demanded through gasps, picking the towel up and securing it around her. She ran out of the bathroom, tripping as the monster continued rumbling the floor. As she slid into the center of the antechamber room, another tendril tore up through the kitchen sink on the other side. She clenched her teeth as its true form dawned on her. "The… the soup?!" she exclaimed, working out the details. She figured it was coming up from a sewer or somewhere underground. A decent theory, despite a few glaring problems. First, her failed dishes only ever had enough strength to spit in her eyes before expiring. Second, this was the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.

"Wait, how can there EVEN BE anything down there?! No... Waste must teleport out somewhere… then how is the porthole being held open?" She held her head, trying to understand what kind of high-level sorcery would allow a breached dilated space to connect to another one without any time backflow or immediate closure. After all, there was a reason why her stick never returned to her sleeve inside this weird place.

What was the chamber's dilation rate again? From the legend, a year to a day... She felt the blood drain from her face as an atom-sized galaxy exploded in her brain. There was only one answer. Recursive tunneling from both sides of real time, within the time chamber, out into a distended dimensional space connected from the chamber. Wrangling with the concept, she barely grasped the numbers, so she rounded. A minute to a day. A ratio of roughly 1 to 365, multiplied by each set for each side, while also taking into account the outsides of real time.

"Impossible!" Reed spat, shivering at the madness of such a complicated web of time magic. "Who actually DOES THIS and just uses it for _household plumbing_?!" Unable to picture the last Kami, she instead pictured her teacher's face, laughing mysteriously into the abyss of time. Was magic just a toy to him? "What the…" She cradled her forehead, spent from this revelation. "Where did this guy even come from?..." What WAS a guardian of Earth?

Only madness could've directed the creation of such a place.

According to her crappy calculations, the soup had sat in the bowels of a separate, ultra-distended dimensional space where roughly one minute of Hyperbolic Time Chamber time equaled 12,000,000 years in its own time. In just an hour—in the ravages of a needlessly dilated time hell—the soup had spun around in a cloud of the chambers' collective past sewage for billions of years, acquired life, understanding, and then finally, the gumption to climb out and punch its creator in the face.

No wonder it was pissed!

Breaking past her stupor, Reed yelled and flung her arms out, slamming the tendril with rapid-blasts. It flailed skillfully, dodging and coming in close—until it made contact and thrust her into the room's ceiling. Squirming free, she thumped to the ground amidst debris and groaned. Focusing, she jumped to her feet when the tendril raised to stab her through. Barreling from the room's foyer, she ran out into the vast openness of the Time Chamber.

At the same time, Piccolo had already located the broom and was heading back. Holding it parallel while in flight, he frowned as he went. Despite the setback of time spent searching for the broom, he'd had plenty of opportunity to further reflect on his teaching style and course goals.

In light of his student's past failings, Piccolo had come to understand three important things: (1) throwing her at lessons in his usual style often magnificently backfired, (2) in order to teach his new pupil how to overcome her bizarre weaknesses, he first had to understand them, and (3), after watching what she did to the soup, he just had no freaking idea anymore.

Right when Piccolo groused to himself in a unintelligible grumble of confused complaints, he felt a third nearby energy signature light-up. "What? Is that from inside the chamber?!" he barked, tensing from the reality of an intruder. "That's impossible." Barely four minutes had passed in the real world. Even if the enemy wizards knew a way to get in, there was no way they could've located them so fast.

He locked onto Reed's exceeding battle energy and spoke to her telepathically: _"Reed, answer me! What is even going on over there?"_

The link broke for a moment, mainly due to a distraction on her end, but she managed to hang on the line. _"It's… the soup!"_ she answered hesitantly.

 _"What?"_

 _"It's."_ She gulped. _"It's cursing its existence!"_

"The soup, it's cursing its…" His breath snapped. "Are you even TRYING to make sense here?!"

 _"I promise, it makes more sense in conte—AHH!"_

Gnashing his teeth, Piccolo flared his energy and accelerated.


	5. Instant Soup Monster

A five-story mass of semi-solid, luminescent gray biofilm writhed in the distance, its roars vibrating airwaves in a tone that just about made Piccolo's ears bleed. "Good god, what the hell," he said when he saw it, identifying its origins straight away. Exhaling sharply, he flew closer and circled, sensing Reed but not seeing her. "Reed!" he yelled, slowing when he noticed her hand reaching out from the gullet of the sea anemone-like monster. He flew in close but veered off when the monster flailed its appendages, an electrical bloom charging along its rifts and tufts. It fired an attack.

"Ha!" Piccolo yelled, palms out, blasting back. Both energies collided and flashed, propulsing them back: Piccolo in the air and the monster on the ground. Steeling through the ensuing wind storm, Piccolo tuned his attention. _"Reed, wake up!"_ he thought, broadcasting his intent to her. _"It's time for your flying lesson!"_

 _"Teacher,"_ Reed barely responded. _"I can't… move."_

 _"We'll cover that next. But first…"_ He closed his eyes, his features tensing as he locked onto her form with his mind. _"Have you ever nearly fallen to your death, only to slow your descent with a ki wave?"_

 _"I."_ She responded through rasps for breath. _"Have not?"_

 _"I see. You'll want to put up a ki barrier."_

 _"What?"_

"HRGHH." Piccolo closed his eyes and extended his telekinetic reach and aura, right into the enemy's gullet. Bringing his ki manipulation to its peak, he yelled, ripping Reed straight up through the monster.

Gray flesh liquified around Reed as she exploded up from the monster's head and was slung for the chamber's endless headspace. Regaining her breath for a minute, she found it no longer available as the atmosphere grew thinner. She blanked out, multiple times, and in each instance she swore she saw into the outer dimensions.

Below Reed, the dot on the ground representing the enemy shrunk and vanished into the depthless white. Blanketed by the force still exerting around her, with her outline blurred, Reed grasped her throat, unable to scream at what she'd seen. What was flying and what was falling? In this superposition, both states existed at once. In this limbo, the event of her downward return could possibly never occur. It was a paradox. A quantum state. Or maybe a coinciding stratum of sedimentary rocks.

Not a lot of air was reaching her brain at the moment.

So long, life… love... and dignity. She wasn't sure she had much of any of those to begin with, especially the last considering her bath towel had long since blown away, but she supposed it didn't even matter where she was going.

Her soul was halfway hanging out when reality returned and she realized she was falling. She knew this because the air had returned and she could finally scream.

She recalled the lesson her teacher assigned to her and she braced. With a yell, she gathered her energy—the rampant, neurotic energy always running up and down her spine in moments like these.

Piccolo shielded his eyes when he saw the air light-up overhead. And when he felt the trembling from Reed's oncoming wave, he braced. A green energy beam, a Wizard Killer thirty times larger than before, rained down on the monster before them and flooded it in an merciful light that incinerated it on touch down. Piccolo grunted as wind bore into him, eyes wincing at the overkill, but as he sweated through his concern, a satisfied grin settled on his face.

There was a soft thud.

In the veil of the clearing dust, Reed lay there, sprawled and coughing. Piccolo approached cautiously, but then held off. He gulped at the scene before him.

A towel soon circled down and flopped down on top of her.

After everything that had just happened, Piccolo's concerns unexpectedly changed. "Were you," he stammered, multiple shades redder, "were you in the middle of your bath when all that happened?!"

Reed crawled to her knees, her cheeks still covered in the enemy's gooey entrails. "Yes," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. "And I'm going to need another one!" Her lips quivered and the floodgates opened. She clenched the ground and bawled.

Piccolo's mouth dropped open and he held his useless hands out. Sensing the weight of the witch's mental state, he turned away. "I-I didn't see anything!" he lied through his teeth. "I mean, it doesn't even matter—I've seen it all, I'm completely removed and have no interest in the human form!" He had no idea what she was upset over, so he figured this was it.

"It's not that." She wiped at her tears. "You threw me. You threw me out past the heavenly realms." She exuded feelings of extreme hurt. "Do you," she sniffled, "do you hate me that much?"

He felt a stabbing pain in his chest when she asked him this, and he fought himself to keep from denying it outright. "Don't take it so personal! If I hated you, you wouldn't be here," he spat, realizing he'd still given her a pretty damning confession anyway. He clenched his teeth. Why did he have to comfort her again? She agreed to this brutal training in the first place! And personally, he thought throwing her made a pretty good attack. He was even half-tempted to give it a name. Distracted by this idiotic thought, it took him a few seconds to realize that she'd actually stopped crying.

She had even wrapped the towel around herself and sat up. "You're right, teacher. I was being foolish." She was calm now, even. "Looking back, I think I understand now. You were just trying to show me the ways of the true martial artist." She closed her eyes. "Feeling. Sensing and perceiving. The enemy's life force... Killing intent! Even if it all was mainly from you..." She tightened her fists until they shook. "When you flung me, I felt something in your aura... And that's when I saw it. You! Your hands! Ripping my entrails out through the empty eye-sockets of a higher you! And right on through twenty-billion other yous, young or old, or dust... I saw this vision when I passed out back then." Her muscles clenched as she spoke of the memory. "It was like I was looking at you, from different places in the observable universe, through a smashed mirror reflected in its own pieces. Is this what you were trying to show me, teacher?" She finally gazed at him. "Teacher?" Her eyes shone searchingly.

Piccolo was entrenched in a cold sweat. "I don't know," he managed-out. "Honestly, that sounds terrifying." What was she even describing to him? Given the description of the experience, he was certain that he, too, would've cried.

Reed choked, her composure pulled right out from underneath her. "W-wha," she let out, "then what WAS all that?!"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?!" Whatever it was, it was absolutely creepy.

"Why? Why were there some many different yous, all trying to crush me?!"

"Please stop talking about it!" He spun around and walked away quickly.

"I really want to talk about it!"

"I really don't!"

Maybe this place was starting to get to them.

One go-nowhere argument later, the two found themselves back at the antechamber room. Piccolo scoffed at the damage to the structure. "This was all SUPPOSED to be reinforced," he said to himself, questioning Dende's work. Though it was never done selfishly, sometimes the kid overestimated himself. "Ah whatever, at least everything's still standing like he said it would be." Especially the door to the outside. He turned and saw Reed, who was clutching the towel around her chest and staring fretfully in the direction of the bathroom. She shivered.

"You look cold. What are you waiting around for?" Piccolo demanded, somehow feeling bothered by her lack of awareness around him. True, he'd told her he held NO interest in the human body, but the way she made zero fuss around him made him feel irritated somehow. He re-phrased his question: "Tch. Why don't you go take a bath already?"

Reed looked him in the eyes. "Because I'm terrified," she explained, "of the altered space in the bathroom drains." She balled her hands into fists. "Even with traps, the time dilation still off-gases! I thought time was moving differently in the kitchen and bathroom… and it turns out it really was." She trembled. "Such magic... It's too much... Why didn't you just do something mechanical, like a really long pipe that goes outside?"

How could Earth's past guardian be so extra?

Piccolo grunted as he felt his wiser self—Kami himself—pulling awake inside his consciousness. "S-so you found out about that little pocket dimension," he stammered, tensing as he felt Reed's eyes drill into him. He found himself offering her a full explanation in turn: "At some point in my youth, time manipulation was a special interest of mine. Being young and rash, I got a little carried away when an opportunity arose where I could apply it..." He recalled even Mr. Popo was flabbergasted; the caretaker told him it was an awful idea—a point justified when an envoy of the Kai stopped by to issue a stern warning about it. It was a wonder they didn't call for the collapsing of the whole Time Chamber right then. "You're right. I should've just used a really long pipe," Piccolo grumbled, "that went outside."

Reed held a finger to her lips. "But after receiving so much material, it really is a wonder," she said, "how nothing bad happened with it until now." She bit her fingertip. "How many centillions of years have passed inside that literal time drain? How many civilizations have lived and died, cursing such an existence?"

By this point, Kami's guidance vanished, leaving Piccolo to deal with this one on his own. "Look! It's supposed to be near impossible for life to form in a vacuum!"

"But it was still possible?" Her passive-aggressiveness was showing. "And it was still worth being cautious over?"

"Oh, it's my fault, huh? When it was YOUR soup that caused the whole damn problem to begin with!"

She gasped at such injustice. "By the time I came back, it was already YOUR soup." She held up a fist. "And you're the one who grabbed my hand and forced me to ruin it! Also, don't forget that YOU threw my broom away, TWICE. If you hadn't, this never would've happened!"

Baring his fangs, Piccolo produced her broom and held it up. "That's enough complaints out of you! I saw how ridiculous you were without it, so I went back and got it for you! How about that, huh? And I was just trying to feed you lunch earlier, so don't give me that, you ingrate, you understudy, you dunce of a student!" He tossed the broom aside in spite, but fully within reach this time. "I can't believe you're—" He cut himself off when he finally noticed it— "using my towel." He stared. "That's my towel!"

Reed froze. "N...no?" she emitted, slouching away from him and tugging it closer. She reddened from ear to ear. "Impossible. It's not."

"It is!" Piccolo identified it by its blue color. "The only other towel here is white. I remember leaving it out for you."

"I. Didn't see it."

"It was right next to…" He exploded. "I know you saw me using the blue one!" Why would she lie about something so stupid? Why was she disrespecting him, her teacher?

"I didn't see it!" she cried, running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. She apparently forgot all about her fear of the drain.

Mouth open, ready to yell some more, Piccolo was left standing there bewildered instead. It was probably just the witch's flustered state affecting him, but he thought he felt delirious all of a sudden. Tracing his fingers over his face, he realized it was warm and burning up. Scoffing at how pointless all of this was, he decided the do something actually worthy of his time, so he sat down and meditated.

Right in front of the bathroom door.

Two hours passed without another word from her. He heard her in the water, breathing and exhaling deeply from time to time, but she was otherwise silent. Something was wrong.

He knew this because he still felt awful.

With his back to the door, he raised a fist and knocked on it. "You're going to turn into a prune!" he proclaimed.

He finally heard her voice. "HMPH," she said. And that was all. From this sound alone, he finally understood that she was mad at him. He crossed his arms but it did nothing to stave off the panic. There was only one thing left to do.

"I'm sorry," he lowered himself and apologized at once. "For calling you ridiculous. And an ingrate. And a dunce of a student." There was no further response so he held his knees and tried to recall any other grievance that needed redressing. "And for throwing you into another dimension, I guess."

He heard footsteps and the door opened. When he snapped around, he saw her sad eyes there. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "for being so ridiculous." Her head drooped low. "Please don't kick me out."

He almost fell backwards. Is that what she was in there worrying about all this long time? She truly WAS ridiculous! "I haven't even considered it, and I won't," he confessed, looking away. "Hurry up and come out already. You've been in there for hours."

"Hours?" Reed repeated. "But I've only been in here for…" She blinked, remembering the bathroom's time incongruence. "Nevermind. Actually, I've been wanting to come out, but it seems my clothes went missing."

Piccolo stood, holding out a finger for a moment in thought. After deciding training was over for the day, he fired his magic and created a copy of her original outfit—only this time the robe was shorter and with plenty of splits and openings for movement. Yes, movement. A completely practical reason, he assured himself.

Reed caught the flopping garments through the door and bunched it tightly against her chest. "Thank you, I'll be out soon," she said, finally smiling again. The door closed and everything was right again.


	6. Meditation Sickness

Doing a one-handed, hovering handstand on a sword's point, Reed stiffened and pumped out a wavering stream of ki to keep from touching it. Her arm buckled. With her fingertips barely a hair's width away from the blade point, she cried out when her energy level dipped and took out a slice. So far, her hands were covered in cuts.

"Next penalty," Piccolo said, arms crossed. "Two finger handstand."

Reed's eyes watered. "Impossible!" she let out, upside down, "I need more time!"

Piccolo felt his eye twitch. "Impossible, really!" he rejoined. "We've already spent three days on flying alone. It's time to master it and move on!" He pointed at her accusingly. "Your hands keep slipping because your mind keeps slipping! All your useless thoughts are dragging you down, so ignore them and focus on the objective!" He let out an exasperated huff. "Next penalty. One finger handstand!"

Reed screamed. "But I haven't even performed the last penalty!"

"Extra penalty. No pudding for a week!"

"Nooo!" Reed sobbed, switching to her index finger alone. Through the power of her intense grief, she managed to control her focus and hover on the blade point with a steady ki output.

Piccolo glanced away, suppressing a smile. His threats had gotten more and more inventive lately, partly due to her reactions, and partly due to her love of his honestly mediocre cooking. As coy as he played it, he basked in all the praise. Together, these small things compounded into an extra, unexplainable bonus that went along with her leaps in improvement. Yes, they were making progress. Unfortunately, she was still far too weak. As she was now, she would just manage to defeat Capos' four wizard stooges.

After watching Reed hold out with no further ebbs in output, Piccolo spoke up. "That's enough," he said. "The only thing you lack now is discipline." He watched her sigh relief and dismount her handstand on the hilt-planted sword. The sword powdered into light.

Piccolo sat on the barren ground, glaring at the spot right beside him. Understanding, she plopped down and scooted in. "Discipline?" she asked, rubbing her slashed-up hands and biting the inside of her cheek. Regardless, she was still eager to learn, as usual. "Do you mean self-discipline?"

Glancing at her, once, and remaining aloof, Piccolo held out a hand. She stared at it. Leaving his hand outstretched, he waited twelve seconds before his forced silence became a low growl. With two nervous blinks, Reed gave him her hands. He cupped them in his, surrounding their fingertips in a faint glowing light. A small hum resounded. One by one, the cuts on Reed's hands partially healed. Eyes narrowed, his forehead began to sweat from strain. The wounds healed just enough, leaving light scars.

Reed stared down at this magic and gasped. "That's real good!" she exclaimed, amazed by such an advanced healing technique—having never actually seen Dende's. "You definitely make a way better witch than I do!"

Piccolo felt annoyed by her self-deprecation. "Be quiet and listen," he snapped, closing his eyes. "This isn't something I'm ordinarily able to do. But lately, as I've taught, I've also learned." His hands tightened their grasp. "Your magic helped me realize some things. Even if we're born deficient, knowledge can move past the fact. The mind can compensate. And with enough mental discipline, one can harness the factors surrounding their inabilities. And turn it into strength." When he opened his eyes once more, he noticed Reed staring at the ground, her chin tucked into her chest and her mind lost and fuzzied by some vague distraction. "Are you even listening to me?!" he demanded.

"Yes!" Reed forced herself to look at him, her face red. "I heard everything! I'll work hard!"

"See, you didn't hear me!" He leaned closer just to glower disapprovingly at her, all until he realized he was still holding her hands—tightly. When he realized he WAS the distraction, he gurgled and let go. "I wasn't sure if I was done yet, is all." He pulled back and coughed. "But it seems that's my limit." He crossed his arms and maintained a facade of calm. "Sorry if I scared you, but you should get used to it by now. Still..."

"No, it's ok!" Reed ejected, shaking her head and waving her hands for emphasis. She then bashfully covered her mouth with a closed hand. "I don't mind." With her cheeks still full of color, her eyes watered as an unmistakable vibe of, "It felt nice…" travelled from her head to Piccolo's.

Choking, sort of uncomfortable, he turned away from her and hunched down low. "W-well! As long as you got the message in what I was saying... good enough." He quickly crossed his legs and closed his eyes with purpose this time. "Enough slacking. From here on out, it's meditative training." He sensed her copying him. "Any questions?"

She raised her hand for some reason. "So. Do I just clear my mind?"

He scoffed. "That's impossible for you. At least, for now. Start by counting your outward breaths. Do it in sets of ten."

She took a deep breath. Then she breathed out and counted so hard, he heard her think it.

"Sit up straight," he said. "Align your upper back!"

She pulled her shoulders back so tight, her bones crackled. "Alright, I'm beginning."

"No need to announce it."

"I must!" She got intense all of a sudden. "It helps me get in the zone!"

Piccolo felt his nose wrinkle. "Just be quiet already!"

Breathing in response, she exhaled lowly. And from then on, she began a slow and deliberate method, with breaths that wracked her chest in their length. As she sharply slowed her brain waves, and drifted closer to putting herself to sleep, Piccolo waffled on whether to warn her about going too far into "the zone". The choice to not interrupt her won out, and in the end, he found himself hyper-focusing on that snore-like rhythm of hers until it became the epicenter of his own elevated consciousness.

Out from the shared, relaxed half-awareness, the breathing stopped.

Piccolo's eyes shot open.

The both of them were still there with nothing but the paper white expanse around them. But something felt different.

Looking over at Reed he found her sitting there, eyes blank. "Reed?" he began. "What happened?" With no response, he shook her lightly. The reason for her silence, though stupefying, was founded. Her body now felt stiff and lightweight, like a doll's. This wasn't Reed.

The chamber door banged in the distance, and as Piccolo started from this, he let go of the doll, her body falling over and smashing into chunks. All were hollow, like pieces of a ceramic pot.

He jumped to his feet, unsettled. The knocking at the chamber door grew louder. "Alright, you got me," he yelled, certain Reed was trying her hand at a prank. He approached the chamber room, where the doors kept pounding.

Reed's voice beckoned from behind those closed doors: "You have to let me in! Let me in. Let me in. LET ME IN."

Piccolo paused, his teeth set apart as the fear of this absurd reality broached him. How could she be outside in real time, knocking? In order for that to be possible, she would have to be outside knocking a thousand times a second just to get through the time difference. The same applied to speech. It was impossible for someone like her.

No, Reed couldn't be out there. She was inside the chamber with him. He glanced behind him. The broken statue he'd left behind in the distance now stood behind him, whole again and grayed-out.

He flinched and caught himself on the door. The door jumped beneath his palms as he never took his eyes off the statue. It remained posed, motionless and hand extended. It was as if it'd been reaching out to him while his back had been turned. "Please let me in," Reed begged on the other side of the door. Something was scratching there.

A second Reed spoke: "Don't open it! No matter what you do, don't open it! DO NOT OPEN IT."

"Help! Please, don't listen, you have to let me in!" The person behind the door became more desperate. "You CAN'T. LEAVE. ME. OUT HERE."

Piccolo stepped back from both. "That's enough!" he spat, raising his guard to keep from panicking. "You're having fun with this, aren't you?!" He glanced back and forth between the statue and the door, still trying to convince himself that this was just an elaborate prank. Standing there, agape, he fumbled to make sense of the real Reed's identity. Focus all he could, he was unable to sense her exact location.

He could only sense that she was close by.

Metal squeaked from both sides of the chamber—a familiar noise made by the turning of both the kitchen and bathroom taps. But there was no one else there to turn them on. There was no one else in the chamber with them. Unable to determine where to run first, he realized he was too paralyzed to move. Was it indecision?

"Something is after you," Reed said.

Water was running. And from the splattering sound it made, it was running out all over the floor. It crept, washing in from both sides like a wave of black ink, gluing his feet to the ground. He tried to pull away and the ink level rose past his waist. For as much as he squirmed, it thickened. He gasped as the water level climbed his jaw and then his eyes, and then he went under, dragged down.

Pressure closed in around him as he fought to see. One by one, shuddering red light dotted the distance. He was flying alone through hazy space, at least until a curdling dark mass hulked in the distance. Before his eyes, veined clouds of space dust were being vacuumed into the Earth-sized creature's mouth. Wasn't this something he'd seen before? He vaguely recalled the other day—at least until gel-like pods erupted from the creature's sides. Floating away, the pods unfurled and became swarms of giant, writhing space bacteria. Not expecting such a sight, Piccolo groaned in disgust.

Abruptly, light blinded him. And when he steadied his vision once more, the Earth-sized creature hovered before him. In about a billion little pieces. He gulped, stunned, as the creature's debris floated past his very nose and obscured the horizon. All around, the pieces began shooting off into the distance. It was as if they'd been pulled into orbit. In a way, it reminded him of the way dragon balls scattered. A peaceful sight. Until a piece shot right through his chest.

He hunched, gurgling in pain. As he nearly lost consciousness, the light dissipated and the black sea returned—this time wrapping around his body and constricting him. It attempted to fold him in fours. One by one, his limbs were being snapped and bent in, and his innards were pulverized by the black hole weight of pressure.

Just as he was about to pass out in pain, or perish at last, light returned. Soaked by his own sweat and not that watery black abyss, his eyes adjusted as both reality and a droning noise slammed his ears. All around him, a wall of energy was spinning and blurring the paper white scenery. When he looked down, he found himself lying in a magic circle drawn in blood.

"What is this?!" Piccolo yelled, staggering to his feet and searching around. He finally found Reed, kneeling outside the magic circle. She was breathing raggedly beside an open book.

Uncertain of her true motives, Piccolo kept his distance. "Answer me already!" he said. "What happened?!"

Reed bent lower. "You were possessed," she said, "but... it should be gone." She was greatly weakened. "I got rid of it."

"Got rid of it? Got rid of WHAT? Nothing else should be in here with us!"

"I don't know…" Reed placed one hand on the book and kept the other just outside the circle. "It could be Capos."

Piccolo's forehead scrunched as he approached her. The easiest explanation was that something, or someone, had been present from the start. He wasn't yet ready to blame it on Reed's dead soup monster, but that was a strong possibility. "Then you shouldn't be out there alone!" he said, grabbing Reed's hand and yanking it into the circle. As soon as her hand touched the barrier, it bounced back in recoil. She screamed and he let go.

Falling down, Reed grunted, her hand nestled against her chest as smoke wafted from her damaged arm. Her flesh had been seared from the contact point and all the way up her arm. Silence befell her.

"Reed?!" Piccolo called, pressing his arms through the barrier to try and reach her. The more he pushed, however, the more it hissed and boxed him in. His eyes widened as he realized he was completely stuck. "Are you… Ergh!" He bared his fangs as the trap continued holding him back. "Hurry up and take down this barrier!" He waited but she remained kneeling out-of-reach, her injured arm braced across her stomach. She doubled over further and turned away. He jolted. What was this? Not only was she refusing to release him, but the barrier had repelled and injured her.

In that moment, all signs pointed to Reed being at the center of this strange attack. Piccolo's gut lurched.

He forced himself at the barrier doubly, snarling at the effectiveness of the cage. "I'm done with this," he yelled. "You'll release me and explain everything clearly!" He pushed to no avail. "I will break out! I'm going to tear through this!" His rage grew alongside the helplessness of his threats. "I won't hold back!"

Reed raised a finger. "That line there," she said, pointing at a group of runes written far inside the barrier's edge. Piccolo choked when he noticed it. She'd placed an important part of the spell safe inside with him. When he raked a foot across it, the barrier dropped. He tsked. He was overcome with the feeling that he'd gone and made a fool of himself again.

"I'm sorry, teacher," Reed bowed in shame. "A few moments ago, I thought I felt it coming back. And I was overcome with the temptation to keep you locked up in there for safety." She slouched further.

Relieved to hear her back to her old self—but mildly disconcerted nevertheless—Piccolo stepped closer. His foot nudged the open magic book on the ground. "Is this?..." He grabbed it, and sure enough, the magic circle was diagrammed there. The text was dense but descriptive. There was no further doubt. It was a magic barrier for exorcising archfiend-level ghosts.

He felt the blood drain from his face. What had she been protecting him from, exactly?

In that moment, Piccolo decided to believe it was the ghost of Reed's slime monster, or whatever that thing from the other day was. Disturbed, and already making plans to have the chamber's plumbing ripped-out, Piccolo's tension released. Considering all the variables involved, he decided to stop being so paranoid regarding Reed. In any case, she'd saved him… from whatever that was.

"Your arm," Piccolo muttered, eying Reed's injury.

She raised and wriggled both hands to show the burnt one was just as nimble. "It'll be fine," she said. "I'll practice healing it myself, so no worries!" She laughed. "For this to have happened to me, I might have messed-up that barrier, so all the more reason to brush-up..."

Piccolo glared at her. "You never did explain what happened earlier."

"You mean, during the lesson?"

"Yes. During meditation. I need to hear every detail."

"Well..." She scratched her cheek. "The details are a little bit unclear, but it seems I blacked-out. For a little bit, at least. When I came to, that's when I found something on you, dissolving away at your life force." She nodded.

Piccolo sweated, wondering how close he'd come to biting it. Despite that last disturbing detail, Reed was in a self-assured mood. "Luckily enough, I had my research materials on me," she said, reaching into her waistband and pulling out a capsule. Clicking it, she puffed-out an impressive-sized bookshelf with books in topics ranging from magic tomes to field guides. She muttered under her breath: "I store them this way as I'm no good at magicking non-food items... In any case!" She spun around and pointed at the spell book Piccolo was still holding. "That goes back in shelf five."

Glancing at the bookshelf briefly, Piccolo went back to reading the book, ignoring her.

Reed fell over.

Piccolo flipped to another chapter, turning away and hunching over. While his wiser self could practice many magic branches, there were a few new byproduct takes in this book that interested him. Particularly, an offshoot of number magic: a magic he was already familiar with, from the Dragon Balls to the Evil Containment Wave. Odd and even numbered properties, when used in balance, were useful for the storage and creation of negative and positive energy. He'd always been left to believe that by themselves, odd and even magic proved unstable. However, it seemed their unique profiles could be utilized in two descended forms known as symmetrical and asymmetrical magic. Yes! The Fusion Dance and the Potara Earrings were being demystified before his very eyes.

"Teacher," Reed spoke up, wishing to grab the book from Piccolo's hands. "Please... I was only able to take these books out of my village under the promise that I never show them to anyone else..."

"I see," Piccolo muttered to himself, his Kami side going for yet another rare override. "So it's not about complete balance, but grounding at the smallest limit... Hm. Interesting!"

Reed cried out, once again totally ignored. She held out her hands and flailed them at Piccolo in a takeover attempt. He held the book out of her reach. "You absolutely have to put it back!" She started jumping for it.

He pulled his eyes away from the book and held it high over his shoulder. "So, you gave your village your word, that you wouldn't let anyone else read these." He had to snort. "But. Did your village keep their word about your permanent exile and freedom?" He already held that place in absolute contempt.

"No..."

"Then you don't need to keep your word on guarding these books for them. Clearly, their word doesn't mean anything."

"That's... I mean..." She still felt it was somehow wrong, but she couldn't argue with his logic.

Holding the book down, Piccolo stared ahead. "Today's lesson is over." He stepped forward, his cape billowing in the cold front that circled-in around them. "It's time for self-study." And with no further instructions, he flew off.

Hastily re-capsuling her bookshelf, Reed pocketed the capsule and ran ahead. With a stumbling start, she lifted-off and flew home, after him.

* * *

 **Author notes: Right on! Reed's name is a pun, and actually a double pun. Since this was going to be a Reader-chan story, her name was originally Reader Witch. But dat piccolo/reed pun.**

 **So yes, now it's Reed Erwitch.**


	7. Meat Monster

After Piccolo's possession incident, their training ended for the day.

He rested inside the antechamber, while Reed loaded up on books and flew onto the roof. As if complying with his randomly-imposed self-study period, she left her bookshelf out beside her bed.

He took it as an invitation to read the whole collection.

In just a night and a day, he had scanned every single magic tome and committed every useful spell to memory. Sure enough, there were subjects beyond his talent, but he was blindsided by all the high-level spells that could be done without Dragon Clan powers. In fact, he was starting to wonder if that magic had been thoughtlessly mystified due to a reliance on inborn ki-shaping ability. In other words, from his viewpoint as a martial artist, a whole crap-ton of sorcery could be done by just manipulating objects or blasting lines in the dirt. And, yes, even by spilling some blood (as Reed had demonstrated).

While Piccolo underwent his impromptu study session, Reed, too, was hard at work. Practicing her skills, she marked the silence with random rooftop explosions and her smothered sobbing.

Piccolo knew it well: she was truly a miserable witch.

Of course he noticed the rippled, creased spots of water-damage in the pages of her library. After witnessing her succession of failures, he understood their nature. She was one of those who cried out her frustrations. One of those types; a fighter whose every failure was a gut-punch to the shreds of her dignity. Yes, familiar. He understood her type well: she was one who weathered through uncontrollable bouts of self-disgust and wounded pride, only to emerge more determined and thus, terrifying. For the uninitiated, or at least the mentally well-balanced, such bouts looked like silly temper tantrums. But he knew better than to mock the cries of the soul. Such passion was the foundation of true fighting spirit, after all. For this reason, he left her alone to work it out.

Though, perhaps he was just waiting for her to come to her senses. When would she recognize that he needed answers already?

Though he waited, the next day came and went without her appearance. She didn't even crawl into bed that night—an activity she usually made a big scene about with all her pajama changing and teeth-brushing.

In the cold hours of the morning, he grumbled away his aloofness and, with the excuse of a spare blanket, flew onto the roof to see her. There he found her knocked-out. Despite her botched spells, she had managed to heal her arm: the arm wrecked by her own barrier.

A barrier for archfiend-level ghosts.

Again, the image of a billion, cut-up pieces of monster flesh shooting into the depths of space moved in his mind.

Ever since that possession incident, he'd had insights: working theories about there being something more to those wizards and their witch hunt—something that Reed hadn't mentioned yet. The obvious take was that an unknown power resided within her. The official story, Capos absorbing her as a bullying-fueled power move, was good enough, but Piccolo had always sensed another element involved. After Reed's past few incidents, disturbing space amoebas included, it was starting to all come together.

Reed's entire magic village was at Capos' command, and with so many skilled mages at his disposal, he could achieve anything he wanted. He could even divine the Dragon Balls, or a greater power anywhere in the universe, and make his way there while absorbing anyone who got in his way.

So why was Capos stuck on Reed? An awkward witch whose only redeeming qualities were her hardiness and the fact that she was kind-of, maybe, SORTA arguably cute? As Piccolo stood there in front of the stove (on the evening of the third day), he considered this point. And the possibilities curb stomped him.

For a moment, Piccolo forgot all about his freaky trip to demon space. His mind swam in suspicion instead. "That's impossible," he said aloud.

What if, for one reason or another, Capos wanted Reed as some kind of bride?

This idea rattled through Piccolo's gut like a can of rocks being kicked down a hill. "That's MESSED-UP," he yelled, clawing at his head, ready to fight his own brain, "and on so many levels!" Troublesomely, while rendering all these detailed levels, a strange delusion hit him: in it, the mysterious figure known as Capos broke into the Time Chamber and bound them with magic. Working as a shadowy fiend, the wizard forced a kiss on a crying Reed—right before Piccolo's very eyes.

Piccolo grunted as he wrestled with this stupid and imaginary scenario. "Urgh!" he let out. "Forget it! I don't even want to think about this anymore." There was no reason to. In all likelihood, Capos just needed Reed's power, whatever it was. This much could be figured because, almost too coincidentally, Capos grew strong enough to lead his village only after taking Reed's brother. It was goddamn Perfect Cell all over again. Didn't this ever end?

Oh... no...

Didn't that make him Krillin?

He growled in distressed rage. No! He was a being of reason! And the only comparisons he needed to be making right now were ones that helped solve this mystery! A wizard born as a witch, and a witch born as a wizard... So far, that was all that seemed special about Reed and Cork. None of Reed's books even mentioned such a topic, so that was a dead end. If only there was someone around that could be shaken for some answers. The only person coming close to this description was Reed's creator and mother of sorts, the Old Witch.

The magic village…

Piccolo couldn't imagine going there any time soon.

He watched the pork bun meat burble in the giant pot on the stove before him. "Damn it," he said, tearing away from his thoughts. "I made too much." A simple mistake, considering how much he was used to cooking for ravenous Saiyan brats. He scraped the meat around with a spoon. Reed was more or less human, and even in her hungriest moments, she only ever a dozen servings at once. However, maybe even that wasn't normal for a human...

In any case, the nature of Reed's secret abilities haunted him. They didn't make any sense. "What would they even be?" he asked himself. "Her awful cooking skills?" He scoffed. But then the sight of the statue-like Reed smashing to pieces recoiled in his memories.

Even if he didn't have the full picture, he knew his instincts were correct. There was no way she was clueless, either. She was definitely hiding something from him!

His right ear twitched at a nearby noise. It was time! Spooning some bun meat into a bowl, he set it aside on the counter and turned his back. On cue, a hand reached up for the bowl. Piccolo focused. With the reflexes of someone mid-battle, he lashed out, catching Reed by the crook of the arm and reeling her up. "And what do you think YOU'RE doing?" he spat.

Her mouth quivered. "Hunger..." she said, thinking that was an appropriate answer.

His forehead tensed. "I didn't expect this to work so soon." But it made sense; for as far as he knew, she hadn't eaten for days. "Now we can do this the hard way," he scooped her under his arm, "or we can do this the easy way." He locked her against his side.

It didn't take long for Reed's usual nervousness to take over. Her heart rate doubled and a gauze-like signal erupted from her brain. Face reddened, eyes widened, her aura shone like bubbles and her entire body shook like a loose gutter in a wind storm.

Wait, wasn't this atmosphere kind of unwarranted?

Piccolo grunted and nearly dropped her. Setting back his initial confusion, he stuck her face in front of the meat pot instead. "I have a backlog of questions, and it's time you answer them. We may have been busy studying, but I know for a fact that you've been avoiding me!"

"Nnh!" Reed refused.

This little...! He felt the blood rushing to his head. "If you know what's best for you," he said, menacing by force, "you'll talk! You'll tell me whatever it is you're hiding from me." He stuck her nose inches from the spoon handle. "Or you'll be making yet another mealtime monster!"

Reed's euphoric brainwaves flat-lined and she yelled, wriggling. This only moved her closer to the pot. Gasping inwardly, she held off.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Piccolo asked, clearly at odds with his actions. "Yesterday, I saw it during my possession. The monster I saw..." He tensed-up. "It looked like the kind of thing you'd make by your own hand!"

Reed wilted into a bundle of dead weight.

He went on: "Just how many of those monsters have you made before?"

She looked away and gulped. "I haven't..." she trailed off.

"Explain."

For what is was worth, she seemed remorseful. "That was the first one," she admitted, squeezing her fingers together, "but now, I can't be certain what all my failed potions and dishes will become in millions or even hundreds of years from now…" She went limp, suppressed by dread. "I've made so many of them..."

"That's not normal for a witch! Is it?"

She tensed again, and though she said nothing, sweat poured from her brow. How could she be any more obvious?

Piccolo watched her in silence, and after awhile, he set her down gently. Without any anger, he placed the spoon in her hand.

This almost fooled her, but only for a moment.

She shrieked as they fought to maintain control over the wooden utensil.

"Start talking or you'll start stirring!" he yelled, grunting and struggling to assign her to her doom.

She cried, again. "I'm so sorry!" she burst, gaining ground on the spoon handle. "You're right, it isn't normal! I'm not normal!" She was only saying this to save her lunch.

"That much can be figured out just by looking at you!" Piccolo let go of the spoon, sending Reed teetering off. "Just what kind of curse do you have? That's what it is! Isn't it?"

In no time at all, the complete confirmation of this fact was revealed by the open-mouthed glare on Reed's face. That reminded Piccolo: he still had to break her out of that bad habit of telegraphing all her moves. With an aside glance, he huffed. "This has something to do with you being Capos's target, doesn't it? I don't like being ran around anymore than you do. Tell me what you're hiding."

"I don't know," she said, still having the audacity to lie.

"You don't?"

"It's really impossible." So she really had been holding-out on him this whole time!

His patience snapped. "You!" He didn't hold back this time, and through his telekinisis alone, Reed yanked back like a marionette and conducted her to stir the pot. Deadly dark fumes poured out into the kitchen.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?" Reed screamed, watching as her own arm betrayed her, stirring. "Oh no…" Her eyes glimmered. "Oh, barbecue pork bun meat..." She hiccuped through the foul stink, mourning its loss. "Please! Listen to me, teacher. I'm telling the truth. I don't know anything. My problem isn't so simple. If it was a curse, it'd be obvious. If it was a spell, it could be removed. " She choked on the spreading smoke. "Instead, it's all because… It's all because I didn't come out right in the cauldron. Because of me," she stopped struggling and her arm stirred faster, "my brother didn't come out right either. It's all my fault, because... I am a mistake."

Piccolo released his telekinetic hold, revealing that Reed had already gave into a depressive slump. He turned his back and huffed, allowing her some space to recover. "I'm not trying to rub it in, OK? I just want to know what I'm in for, that's all," he said. "Maybe I didn't make this clear before, but since you're now both my student and liability, you're obligated to tell me anything relevant or important. You know..." He had to stop himself there. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that she wasn't a mistake, but he was already pissed off at her for even thinking such a thing. "Never mind. Just get yourself together already. There's no time for feeling sorry for yourself. As a fighter, one makes enough enemies as it is. Stay on your own side or you'll always be a weakling."

She looked the other way and sucked in her lips. Her cheeks bulged. This was…

This! Now she was just pouting! What the?! He was TRYING to cheer her up—and make her stronger to boot! What a thankless witch!

With an unrestrained breath, Piccolo grabbed the pot of ruined meat by the handles and took it over to the sink.

"W-wait," Reed said, switching around, "You wouldn't…!"

In one fell swoop, he turned on the tap and dumped the pot down the sink.

Reed held her head and bleated, "WHY?...!", her voice reverberating throughout the entire chamber.

"Next lesson," Piccolo said. "This time, you'll be fighting the monster that comes up, all by yourself." He washed the pan at a unseeable speed, hanging it up to dry. "I won't help you, even if it swallows you whole." He tore off his apron and threw it on the counter.

Reed's gaze hardened. She couldn't figure out if this was her next lesson or next punishment. Her stomach grumbled anyway. She was sorry, but that wouldn't do her any good. Lunch was gone and now death awaited her.

"What are you standing around for?" Piccolo said, folding his arms. "You'd better get ready. IF you want to eat again." He watched as Reed sped off into the other room, leaping over books to get her gi.

The sink burbled-up frothy red-orange liquid. As the bubbles grew in size, they opened and became dozens of vertically-slit eyes. "Oh?" Piccolo emitted, both fascinated and disgusted by the gross backup. "A monster generated even faster this time." Perhaps he'd been onto something. This confirmed it... Seemingly, Reed's power was so unrestrained, she was performing living creation magic by merely touching anything resembling a witches' brew. It was a mere byproduct of her daily meals, much like with the creature from his vision. Her creations were even increasing in power alongside her.

But what the hell? How? Why?

The sink soon overflowed with eyeball foam. Reed tore into the room with her baggy uniform pants on inside-out. "It WHAT?" she blurted, fumbling to tie her crooked blue belt. She cried out as the disgusting foam poured over the counter and onto the floor. "How can this be?" She recoiled, her fingers outstretched. "The last one took at least an hour..."

The eyes twitched amidst the pillowy foam. Focusing, they gained awareness—and a purpose. Eat, expand, and produce.

Sensing its single-minded intent, Piccolo leapt away. "Get back," he yelled, stunned by its compounding strength. "That thing… it's like a disease!"

Reed moved a split second too late. The foam expanded and imploded, and though she jumped and blocked, eyeballs splattered down her arms. She gasped; the nightmarish organisms were etching into her skin. She watched it web up her arms, like a road map, until mushroom-like growths pushed up and fruited. "EH?" she chirped. It was rooted on her. And now, it was growing. Did it perhaps come up from that drain dimension, after an eternity of hunger, in search of flesh?

With a yelp, Reed's ki barrier snapped up and incinerated the cannibalizing foam. Even still, more of it gushed out from the sink. The eyes glared at her, their veins pulsating in their whites as they swarmed.

"AH! AHH! HAH!" she yelled, pelting the organism with blasts. Each hit disintegrated the sink, the counter, and then eventually, the entire kitchen wall. She kept blasting and yelling at the ever-expanding life form.

Piccolo could only watch, slack-jawed, as the situation spun increasingly out of control. This was bad! What was this energy? Its magnitude... was multiplying every second.

Breaking from the last round of blasts, Reed panted. "It's no good," she said, dispersing the blasts further apart in time as she moved away, "I'm either feeding it with my attacks, or... it's just too much to even deal with!" She dodged out of the open hole in the kitchen wall and retreated.

Piccolo flew close behind, bewildered by the monster's growth. "Listen," he said, scowling and twitching, "I know I said I wouldn't help you with this, but..."

"Teacher, I'll do this myself!" she said, sliding to a stop before the oncoming vomit-like mountain of nightmares. "I wanted to show you... I've been practicing that move from our very first battle!"

"That move?"

"The extra credit one!" Reed stopped and steadied her footing, stubbornly facing the oncoming monster.

Piccolo froze beside her, his mind already racing with the reality of the enemy's power level. Without understanding anything, he'd unleashed a force capable of destroying worlds. Why did he push things this far? This lesson had to end now, before they fell any deeper into this mess—before this thing managed to escape the chamber.

But how?

He could only think about how hastily he'd acted this time—purposefully creating yet another vile monster—and how foolishly he'd given into his new anxieties. The basis of their form was... a simple wish. More than anything, he wanted to know more about Reed. And without any reason, without knowing, he'd become possessive before the fact. He grunted, paralyzed by his realization of his own weakness. This alone allowed his student to act.

She moved before he could gather his mind enough to understand their mistake.


	8. Ghosts with Great Fortune

Confronting the enemy slime mold, Reed yelled, pressing her fingers together. In the cage of her palms, a dense water bubble grew with such size that it escaped her hold and levitated upwards. Inside, a synthesis occurred. Elements swirled and compressed into a metal core while the outside of the water bubble froze into ice.

Piccolo watched as the slime monster's tail slid out from the far kitchen-side wall. The eye-infested creature was still growing and gliding their way—and rapidly. Stretching above, it rushed across the blank landscape straight for them.

"Look out!" Piccolo yelled, perturbed that Reed wasn't retreating. For real, she was just going to stand there and take it head-on. Meanwhile, her bubble attack was barely giving off any energy. Was it a dud? All action inside it had stopped and now it was cold—a mere bundle of idle particulates. He growled. Before he could pull her out of the way, she pulsed the sphere higher. He flinched from the scorching bright light that followed.

Humming lowly, the frozen sphere threw off diverging rays of electricity and flashed. As it came down, Reed screamed, "Mapurazuma!"

The energy sphere's watery shell vaporized. As its core phased down through the enemy's body, growling static shook the air. In a moment, the energy was gone—in the next, space itself was rocking like gale-fueled ocean waves. Blue wind and purple lightning razed the event horizon, bouncing across the ground in rebounding strikes. With a yell, Piccolo guarded, his knees buckling amidst the hell forged storm. "What the?" he spat as he was dragged for the black hole that was folding into being and crushing down like a solar eclipse. His footing slipped and he swept forward, his form losing opacity and leaving a ghost trail along the way. He dug his feet in and stopped, and as he did, he peered into the abyss before him. Inside was a view of the Earth, as seen from space. However, it was changed. Time was frozen. Continents were misaligned.

No… What was he even looking at here? Another timeline? The neighboring universe?! His retinas scorched past the point of bearability. Yelling, he wrenched his eyes shut and shouldered through the agony. Holding his face, sweat poured down his cheeks.

"Sha!" Reed screamed out, parting her palms and killing the energy's motion. The horrific force mercifully dissipated like a dying burst of wind—still there, in traces, but gentler.

A thundering boom rattled off into the chamber until all that energy—and whatever the hell that was—was gone. Barely recovering, Piccolo peeled his eyes open and bore the blotches in his vision. In due time, his visibility returned. And when he looked out, no trace of the slime mold remained. There was only a burnt-out crater in the floor of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber itself.

Seeing this impossibility, Piccolo could only make startled grunty sounds.

The destruction—the intensity of the attack—was beyond description. If he were to describe its potential, however, he'd say it was comparable to the detonation of god knows how many stars. To add insult to injury, it was blinding, like a Solar Flare. Unexplainably, barely any of its energy came from Reed.

It was as if she'd generated it out of thin air.

Piccolo somehow found words again. "I get it," he said to himself. "It was born... from the crossway of science and magic." This was the potential of the universe's weakest laws. Laws so weak, their properties could be changed with sufficient input. Even a mere human like Bulma could tamper with them, given the right machines.

"You once called it alchemy... right?" Reed gasped, suffering. "It was something my village." She breathed. "Wasn't really fond of."

Piccolo understood why. It was a subject most mages considered beneath them. Grinding holes through the universe was reckless child's play. Carefully manipulating the universe at convenience, however, was a worthier pursuit.

It was unorthodox, but he had to admit that Reed's technique was a fresh enough approach—if not a little backwards. Using careful magic to wield such chaos was like using a crane to drop a galaxy on someone. Normally, a lot of energy was lost in the exchange, but somehow she stripped it down to the essentials and made it functional.

 _Crazy kid,_ Piccolo thought, now certain she could weaponize anything. As for the name of the technique itself… For some reason, it was in line with the naming theme of his other attacks. "Mapurazuma," he repeated, decoding its meaning. "Demon Plasma."

Reed flew down and approached him, gasping like a fish on land. Despite her attack's efficiency, conjuring it still seemed to be too much for her. "Yes, correct!" She coughed her guts up but went on. "The Mapurazuma," she confirmed, straightening out. "I called it that because, well…" She folded her fingers together and looked away, reddened. "I thought about you a lot when I re-worked it, so I thought I'd name it after you..."

Piccolo gulped, just then noticing that his heart was racing in his right side—well, actually, his right armpit, which was totally normal for a Namek, but THAT was not the important fact here. No, the real stunner was what she'd just said: that she'd created this technique. Just for him.

His mind drifted, dazed. Didn't that mean something special, then? Like how Earth people wrote poems or knitted sweaters for the ones they really liked. The songs. The scarves. His wiser self's memories of humanity spread out before him like an endless expanse.

Of course! If was like THAT, and if that was the case, then, well, didn't that mean she actually _really_ _liked_ him?

As Piccolo considered this further, he folded his arms and gripped them so tightly, they indented and almost spurted blood. Wait. What was he supposed to do with this confession? Didn't that mean he had to answer her feelings and right friggin' now?

Bearing down on this dilemma, his aura built to a terrifying degree.

 _His power level is INCREASING!_ Reed thought, shaken to the core.

Because Piccolo was actually getting kind of scary, her nerves expired. "Wait, hold on, don't take it the wrong way," she cried out, trembling before his intensity. "I swear, I didn't name it that because I'm trying to steal your fighting style or anything!" She waved her hands at him. "I'm just trying to represent your school since I'm part of it now. N-not that I'm worthy of such yet, I mean, one day I hope, but I just got carried away with training, it doesn't mean anything serious, I'm just…" She shrank into a stump of regrets. "I'm just a lowly beginner student!"

These words struck Piccolo like an elbow to the face: _Don't take it the wrong way… It doesn't mean anything serious… Just… a student..._

It took everything he had to keep from gasping from this colossal letdown. Instead, he scowled, stoically, even as his pointy ears drooped. Of course it was like this. He was a Namek. Entertaining these earthly delusions didn't even make any sense! Though this planet had admittedly been his home all his life, the fact remained; he was completely incompatible with its creatures. Especially this one! It was impossible...

Also, wrong!

Besides, what kind of girl made a killing wave as an expression of love? That was like the COMPLETE opposite of a lovingly-made sweater.

Piccolo grumbled to himself.

Reed's renewed concern pulled him from his turmoil. "Was it," she asked, nudging his cape, "no good?"

He exhaled, his pent-up frustrations towards her now leaving his body. For as dense as she was, he had to appreciate her serious-mindedness—and really, it was his own damn fault for misinterpreting it as anything else. "No... Not bad. I'll admit, I was impressed," he said. "But don't misunderstand me. Your technique needs a little work, stability-wise, so I was busy making some notes." He feigned a chuckle and folded his arms broodingly. "Now that I've memorized it all, we can work on it later. It should prove useful in our future battle." He spun away to hide his crumbling facade—and his held-back tears.

Fortunately for him, this was exactly the right way to act. Squeezing her face, Reed virtually melted over how cool he was. "Wow! You saw right through my struggle at the end," she said. "I totally couldn't sustain it long enough for maximum damage! That's just like you, Teacher."

How could he have not noticed? She was still dying up until a minute ago!

Oblivious to his doubt, she fervently held her chest. "Whoa... If YOU did the Mapurazuma, I bet there wouldn't even be anything left!" She shook her fists, excited. She, too, seemed to undergo a heart-racing moment, but presumably for unfathomable reasons that only a miserable witch would understand.

As Reed celebrated the possible destruction of her own existence, Piccolo wondered why he kept putting himself through these mental gymnastics around her. Really, all this witch ever cared about was her training.

He had no idea why that was such a bad thing.

Overhead, a fine mist began to fall. Reaching out a hand, Reed collected the droplets on her fingers. "Hm, rain?" she emitted, observing the blobby liquid. Her eyes widened when she recognized it. "Oh. Oh no," she said, her voice trembling. "It appears it may have been... aerosolized..."

Piccolo stood there in the gross rain. "Aerosolized?" he repeated, forever bothered by her poor word choices. What was she even talking about? The droplets on his skin burned, and somehow, they seemed to be quivering. When a familiar killing intent returned, however, he knew it at once. "Don't breathe it in!" he yelled, feeling its intent. Holding his breath, he watched as his human student stumbled.

Reed was clutching her throat and rasping. From the bottom up, the whites of her eyes were turning yellow. Like a glass, they were filling with the monster's particles.

It was too late! Piccolo reached out his hands, powerless to stop what was happening before him.

"Listen," Reed gurgled, using the last of her breath to speak, "Mapurazuma... is physical. A Wizard Killer… is… better." She hacked and struck her chest, failing to get anything else out.

Understanding her, Piccolo grunted at this insight. So that's how it was! He hadn't paid much attention to it before, but the Wizard Killer was unusual for one reason. Like the Archfiend Barrier, it was specialized for a specific task: killing magical beings.

Reed sunk to the ground and landed face down. Dragged under the patchwork of the monster's regrown capillaries, she became embedded in its rapid, fleshy growth. And then she was gone.

Piccolo scrunched his eyes shut. If only he'd been paying attention! The downpour splattered against his back, a reminder of his diminishing opportunity. No, he had to get his judgment back enough to figure a way out of this. He opened his eyes and focused. There was no time. Aimlessly blasting the enemy's remains wouldn't work, he'd have to gather it up at once and purge it. Despite his racing thoughts, not another minute was afforded for his battle plan.

As if looking through a corroding lens, the sight before him faded to yellow. He gasped, only to find he'd already suffocated from the inside-out. He crumpled, falling on his face.

Darkness fell just as quickly.

In the beginning, there was nothing but the scattered sensations of drifting sleep.

Through the rumble of intertwined perceptions, the visual and sound cleared.

A distorted girls' voice asked: "Refused?"

Piccolo woke-up, standing in the middle of a circular, dimly-lit room. Before him was a tall wooden podium, on which a tiny old witch sat. A little girl in a gi made of starry blue fabric stood below. "Did he say why?" the little girl asked.

"Reed?" Piccolo spat, disturbed by his student's age regression. He inspected the shadowy room thoroughly. "This place… Could this be in her village?" When he considered the Old Witch in closer detail, he did a double-take and nearly fell down. "Fortune Teller Baba?!" he yelled, his fangs nearly falling out of his face. "No… this witch looks different... older..." Most noticeably, she was wearing a pair of shades with neon green glow-in-the-dark frames. "Huh… Is this a dream?" Despite all the noise he was making, neither of the room's inhabitant paid him any notice.

The old witch stared vacantly ahead. "The Old Wizard only told me to tell you this," she said, not bothering to even look at the girl. "Wizard Art is more than a discipline. It's a way of life. A sacred duty of great risk."

Piccolo watched closer, instantly catching-on that this was one of Reed's memories. Little Reed stared up, determined.

The Old Witch continued: "It is a closed circle from which there is no entrance or exit. As such, a witch should never partake in it."

"But!" Reed chirped.

"Those are his words, not mine." The Old Witch folded her hands on her lap. "But I must agree on the matter. There's no reason for a witch to endanger herself with such a life."

The young Reed slouched. "I know it's hard work. I get all that," she said, still hopeful. "But I'm not a witch. Did you..." She clenched her fists, her eyes widening. "Did you tell him that?"

"Oh, Reed..." The Old Witch shook her head. "You ARE a witch."

Reed stood agape, betrayed by the one she trusted most. "But you said"—

—"You are banned from training henceforth. It's too dangerous for you. It's not allowed, and that's it."

"No..." Reed quivered, raising her voice in desperation. "Please!"

The Old Witch pointed a wand down. "Gao-la-pa-lao-la!" she shouted, aiming at Reed. In a burst of blue, Reed's starry gi was magicked it into set of plain witch robes.

Reed cried out.

Holding the wand out over the podium, the Old Witch dropped it down. As it fell, it grew, until it assumed the form of a familiar broom. It landed before Reed, its long wooden handle hitting the floor with a decisive clunk. "From this day forth, you will become the new master of the 100-Year God Broom," the Old Witch said. "Come now, pick it up."

Reed hunched, tears brimming her eyes. She retrieved the broom and held it close. "Why," she murmured. "Why are you giving me your broom?"

"I have more, girl. And this one is best suited for the task. It will guide you… And make you a proper witch."

Reed stared down at its handle. "But I… I don't…"

The Old Witch coughed harshly. As she faced Piccolo, unexpected words flew from her wrinkled mouth. "So, just because you're popular with my daughters, you think you can waltz right in here whenever you feel like it," she crowed, "eh, Mr. Demon King?"

Piccolo could only grunt in surprise. "Wha-what?!" he spat. He thought this was just a memory!

The Old Witch went on, "So you think I'm a blind old cuss. Well. Your ears may be bigger and pointier than mine, but I'm sharper than I look."

Before Piccolo could answer, a familiar devil stepped forth, and right through him—confirming Piccolo's artificial presence in this memory.

The devil chuckled.

Piccolo did yet another double-take. "Dabura?!" he shot, staggered by this unholy reunion.

Piccolo's eyes unfocused as he was bombarded with memories of being spat on and turned into a defenseless statue by said devil—and of being both pooped on by birds and tampered with by Saiyan children. Before he could shiver the memories away, Dabura turned and placed a large red hand on Reed's tiny noggin.

"Hello there, Lil' Sprout," Dabura said, tussling her hair into a bird nest of a mess.

Reed sweated, bearing this transgression in silence _._

As Piccolo was left standing there, grunting in bewilderment, Dabura glared up at the old witch. "You know why I'm here," Dabura said. "My Master hungers for your knowledge—and for the rare opportunity to create a Majin surpassing his father's."

The Old Witch huffed. "I already told you all I know," she said. "What am I, your 24-hour prophet?!"

Pulling out a sack, Dabura flung it onto the floor so its contents spilt out. It was overflowing with what appeared to be tiny dried lizards.

The Old Witch sniffed intently, as if she were detecting a delicious aroma. "Are those! Freeze-dried Lava Newts?"

"Yes…"

"Hrmmm..." The Old Witch bowed from the richness of this bribery. "Go on..."

"With pleasure," Dabura intoned. "As you said before, fifteen will reincarnate across the universe, within the next 100 years. A third will be on Earth, provided we don't destroy it." He hid his opinions on the matter. "But that doesn't account for the location of the 1st Fortune Ghost of Hell."

The witch hopped down from her podium with logic-defying spryness and gathered the newts at once. Tying the sack closed in a tidy bow, she stood very still. "Hmm... The First Hungry Ghost of Hell... Fortune Ghost Baffuru," she murmured. Her expression remained impassive—her eyes, out-of-reach, as they hid behind her dark novelty shades. But then she spoke. "Are you flipping kidding around with me?!"

Dabura crashed to the ground.

"Geesh," the Old Witch said, "you of all people should know the state of THAT Fortune Ghost… As it was your great great great great grandfather who was responsible for its disappearance." She sat on the sack of newts and floated upwards on it. "The Hungry Ghosts of Hell. The tools of the ancient gods, no... their livestock, forgotten by the gods of new and allowed to run feral across the living world." Her polarized lenses flashed like a screen, revealing the image of innumerable different-colored wisps. Each fought relentlessly in their vague, monsterous forms, consuming each other in cosmo-splitting battles. "By fighting, these ghosts created and destroyed life throughout the universe with their magic. Once upon a time, they even maintained a balanced ecosystem. However, that changed, for obvious reasons. Hungering endlessly, for sustenance, and for battle, the winners devoured the losers, and their numbers diminished until there were only sixteen left."

A rainbow of sixteen wispy ghosts danced on the dark surface of her sunglasses. Featureless outlines of each were revealed—their horns, muscles, teeth, and claws exaggerated by billows of smoke. A pink single-horned shadow smirked, it's red eyes flashing as it curled into a ball and smashed through a line of worlds.

Piccolo clenched his fists and gulped, recognizing this particular Hungry Ghost. "Buu!" he ejected, unable to believe what he was seeing. "You mean there's more of them?!"

The scene changed. Once again, Piccolo saw the monster from his possession incident. He recoiled. That writhing mass of a space amoeba, apparently common knowledge to the Old Witch, was floating through the universe and absorbing matter, creating new life as it went.

"The absolute power to create and destroy," the Old witch said, "Long ago, such power was sole property of the gods. But the ferocity of the Fortune Ghosts would change that. The inhabitants of the land of demons, mere mortals at the time, conspired. To protect themselves, they found a way to steal such power from the mother itself, Fortune Ghost Baffuru. This source... is the foundation of magic today."

At their devil king's command, demons gathered in the bowels of Demon Realm, laying stone, stockpiling scrolls, smelting ore, and casting fields upon fields of metal gridwork into the ground. Raising towers to their red sky, and sinking rails into their bogs, they harnessed the power of their land.

A beam of light erupted from the alter of their tallest spire, splitting their sky open and piercing the depths of space. The beam sailed through the cosmos, striking its mark and coring Baffuru like a big, juicy apple. The rest of the energy spread out and netted around the creature, binding and squeezing tightly. The net flashed.

"In that moment, Baffuru was sliced into one-hundred eighty-one billion pieces," the Old Witch continued, "and by our universe's laws of asymmetry, its remains were scattered and attracted to those who sought its abilities." Demons, aliens, and humans reached out their hands and absorbed the sparkles of light that fell from beyond. "This act against the gods granted these mortals—and all who conspired with the land of demons—true magic. Mages were born. Witches. Wizards. Monsters. The wielders of mortal magic. With the power of Baffuru, they were finally able to conquer their fears."

Shadows of wizards emerged, hunting the remaining Fortune Ghosts and rounding and ripping them up. A cloaked, horned figure hunched, devouring the piled remains. Seeing all this, the pink Fortune Ghost fled, terrified and no longer smirking. A tiny bald wizard cackled as he raised his hands and, in a poof of smoke, shackled the ghost in black metal cuffs—shrinking him down to child-size.

Knowing that the ghosts had long since perished, Piccolo allowed himself to calm-down. "Then, they're all gone," he said. "In a way, they used the strongest ghost to subdue the others..." He pored over the ground. "So Buu was enslaved with just some remnant of the first Fortune Ghost?" Impossible. It didn't look so bad when it was just blobbing around in space, eating everything in sight, but in reality, just how terrifying was this "Baffuru"?

Dabura clicked his tongue, dismissing everything he'd just heard as old news. "Or so the fairy tale goes," he said. "Concerning the First's powers… You and I both know that its reincarnation is imminent."

Now the Old Witch clicked her tongue. "Kids these days," she said. "They're nuts, I tell you!" She re-seated herself back up on her podium. The sack of newts had already been stuffed away. "Baffuru is gone, my friend. Finished! Ain't coming back. It's not in the stars. I would've seen it coming a long time ago."

For once, Dabura was at a loss for words. He also appeared utterly defeated. "You seem pretty sure of yourself," he muttered, shoulders slumped.

"Hmm." The Old Witch beheld him with pity. "There's one thing I know. Bide your time, spare the Earth, and you will acquire everything you need for your master's plans." She re-adjusted her shades. "But be warned, Demon King. If you continue serving under that foolhardy master of yours, you will lose your life."

Dabura was unmoved. "But will he succeed?"

The Old Witch scowled. "Yes," she said, already knowing that she couldn't deter him from his fate.

Dabura swept his white cape back; it fluttered behind him as he turned. "Then that is all that matters." He passed by Reed, who innocently gaped in curiosity as he left.

Before Piccolo could process what he'd just witnessed any further, every side of the room closed-in on him. He gasped as his sight puddled into a smear of dark shapes, and for a time, he feared he'd be stuck this way. But it melted away, and soon after, the familiar sounds of nature comforted him. Birds called. A distant waterfall roared. He found himself outside, standing in a forest of pines.

Before him was Reed, back to her usual height, but still younger somehow. A teenager. She swung at the tree trunk before her, her fists wavering beneath layers of bloody bandages.

Piccolo watched. "Reed… I see you didn't give up your training after that," he said. "But I already knew all that." He folded his arms. "Really, some dying dream this is… Fortune Ghosts. Demon Kings... I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

Reed didn't respond. With one last hit, the tree bark split, leaving a large crack that continued to spread.

Cheering erupted from the other side of the forest. She stopped and looked.

Distracted, Piccolo searched as well. He fumbled when he noticed that Reed had already started away. "Hey, wait up!" he demanded uselessly and followed. As he recovered his lost distance, she led him to the edge of the forest.

They arrived at a clearing. In the center, a ring of witches and monsters were gathered around five tall, wooden golems—and a group of young but familiar wizards.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh man, I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I wasn't happy with the story's pace so I had to move my outline around and really think things out. (But like, I'm never happy with my writing. Sometimes I do Instant Transmission-style skips in logic and it shows. Bruh, thanks for following along.) In the end, I decided to do a big info dump in this chapter. Cheers!**


	9. A Stray Witch's Memory

Cheering young witches lined the forest's clearing, onlooking the festivities in the fighting ring within. Piccolo watched Reed as she clung to the nearest tree and hid. He glanced out at the field of wizards and giant wooden golems. "Hm. This doesn't look like a tournament," he said, watching as a wizard sprung forth and slugged the second-largest golem.

Turning from the strike, the golem spun around and countered with a chop that sent the wizard flying right into the crowd. Witches shrieked and parted in waves, leaving him to fall into the dirt. His leg bent back and twitched. "Ow," he emitted.

With a bolt of insight, Piccolo noticed that the golems resembled wooden martial arts dummies. "Now it makes sense," he said. "So it's a training ground." He glared at the crowd and then Reed. "But still, what's with the audience?"

Reed's fingers dug into the tree as she watched, silently, and made herself as small as possible. She still wasn't responding to him.

So this was just a ghost of her in one of her static memories, wasn't it? After what happened back in the real world, were the two of them even still alive?

Piccolo beat back this thought and focused on the wizards instead. "It's them," he growled, recognizing the four wizards he'd fought before, despite them being teenagers. Standing in the ring was a goth kid, a birdish fellow, a white-haired pretty boy, and a plain lad with a fake smile. Commanding their attention in the center was a scrawny young man with salmon-colored hair and smiling fox eyes. Piccolo couldn't believe what he was seeing. "No way..." He latched onto the tree and slunk behind it as well, though he was nowhere as well-hidden as Reed. "Is THAT Capos?"

The gaunt, fox-eyed wizard presumably known as Capos stepped forward, only to be stopped by a familiar old man. In his dark purple robes, the old man commanded an air of importance; he leveled his orbed wooden staff in front of the youth, guardedly, but then raised it. He allowed Capos to pass towards the fifth and final golem.

Recognizing the old man by his beard and hunched back, Piccolo spat: "Roshi?!"

The old man was a Roshi lookalike alright, but at least twice his age—and without the sunglasses.

"I think I understand now," Piccolo murmured, still confused. "That must be The Old Wizard." What an unbelievable sight. It was just like with The Old Witch back in the last memory.

Something was definitely going on.

Piccolo cowered in the light of this confusing truth. "Impossible. Baba AND Roshi? My own memories must be contaminating hers," he said, dismissing all this information for now. Even if it was real, it didn't matter. "Hm?" He noticed Reed had stepped away from the tree. Now she was watching the training ground with renewed interest.

Capos squared off against the fifth wooden golem. Pounding it with twin blasts, he hopped back as the golem teetered straight at him. Out-pacing it by bounds, he merely stepped aside and connected its core with a revolving wheel of near-invisible uppercuts. His audience gasped.

Winding-up in desperation, plumes of sawdust seeped from the golem's joints, and when it reared back its arms—swinging them down with triply increased speed—Capos vaulted far beyond its reach. He spun. Falling down on the golem, he dropped an energy kick like a guillotine and sliced it in half. As the golem's parts slid apart and landed, Capos' remnant energy sailed off into the forest and trimmed the trees.

Capos landed. When he dusted back his short wizard cape, entire rows of witches screamed and fainted.

Startled by the total audience reaction, Piccolo withdrew behind the tree and searched for Reed, who was now missing. He grunted when he saw her. She stood there, one leg in the air, while slowly spinning in place, much like a deranged ballerina. "What is she doing?" he asked, rhetorically. Watching her, he finally recognized her split-second pose from Capos's blade kick. He grunted. "She saw through it after seeing it only once?" For whatever reason, he understood her completely. "Incredible… What terrifying fighting genius."

Just then, two teenage witches walked by. Passing by without a word, they waited until they were still half-way within ear-shot before bursting into giddy laughter. "Oh wow, did you SEE that?" the first witch gasped.

The second witch giggled until she choked. "Her leg! It was up real high!"

"I swear, she's _soo_ bizarre!"

"Ahahaha! The town idiot!"

"Teheheh! Reject!"

Reed's moment of genius toppled into a sad joke. Lowering her leg, Reed crumpled and trembled. Her eyes began to water.

"Reed!" Piccolo called, instantly feeling bad for her. He reached for her shoulder, only to go right through her.

Drying her eyes at once, she walked right through him and began to rhythmically step. Her fists spun in a wheel as she worked, her speed still distant from the kind Capos demonstrated. However, as she went, she rapidly improved. Bootlegging his uppercuts with gusto, she danced off into the forest.

Piccolo had no choice but to follow.

Wings flitted over the darkening tree tops as curious birds squawked. Whether it was artificially induced by the memory or not, night fell in minutes.

They both found themselves on a sparse cliff beside the forest. Piccolo sat on a boulder on the cliff edge and Reed stood by, worn by hours of training. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she once again assumed her fighting stance and peeled into a round of rapid punches and kicks.

Overhead, the blue sky grayed-out into an unsettling darkness; the only warm glow came from the firelight down in the village far beyond the cliff.

Reed stopped and walked towards Piccolo. Before he could sit up, she jumped up onto the boulder to get a better look at the distant village. He looked as well. Tall, colorful huts made from twisted, dyed rope lined the outskirts of the village. Further out, a growing district of small, pastel-colored beach houses sat, and further still was a bell tower on the foot of the sandy beach. There were no waves in the strange sea there, and no sound either. Wherever this place was, not even the stars above knew.

Reed closed her eyes and breathed deeply. For as personal as the moment was, Piccolo felt they were both truly alone in it. Her, in her memory all by herself, and him, stowing away in a ghostly partition of it.

Approaching footsteps broke from the forest behind them. Reed glanced over her shoulder and Piccolo glared back. The entourage of young wizards appeared: Capos, surrounded by Plectra, Valb, Bow, and Rosin.

For the moment, Rosin looked friendly, though that meant nothing good with him. "Good evening," he greeted with a wave—the only indication that something was wrong being the smirks on the faces beside him. "We heard you'd been hanging around again." He leaned forward, his smile increasingly forced. "Surprised we found you? It wasn't that hard. Just follow the deficient little blurt of energy of an energy level."

Reed stepped down from the boulder and stood firmly, not saying a word.

Valb let out a screeching laugh. "You look confused, witch!" he cawed. "You should know by now. We've learned techniques you can only dream of."

Bow let out a deep, malicious chuckle. Capos just stood there. Perhaps he was watching through his closed, squinty fox eyes. Maybe not.

"Hey," Plectra spoke up, already bored by this playground-level taunting. "It's already dinner time. Are we going to do this or not?"

Capos stepped back. "If it suits you," he said, seemingly indifferent to whatever his flunkies wanted. Strangely enough, he held no emotion in the matter.

But this go-ahead was all the wizards needed; they'd been waiting for it. They closed-in on Reed, greedily cracking their necks and knuckles. Her body balanced sideways and she raised her fists.

Capos gave a barely-noticeable frown when he spied her fighting stance. He spoke his mind at last: "You think you own that stance now?"

Plectra trilled. Nostrils flared. Now that the wizards were alerted of this martial art theft, they were pumped for carnage.

She untied her robes and lifted her hat, allowing them to be taken away by the wind. "Right," she said. Moving without thinking, Piccolo threw himself in front of her. They went right through him.

Fists flew at Reed in whirlwind succession. Parrying them from side to side, a stray knee smashed her stomach and hurled her back. Hitting the ground sliding, she rolled over and lighted on her feet doubled-over. She growled and forced several deep breaths.

"You mean 'wrong!', you useless witch," Bow exclaimed, raising his hand. Pillars of light spiked from the ground into the night sky. "Wizard Quake!"

The entire cliff rumbled, and as the ground liquified into jumping, rolling hills, Reed was bounced about on the waves. She yelled, flailing from hill to hill, struggling to balance as the ground gave out underneath. Piccolo flew up, watching open-mouthed as the cliff edge below her tore apart, its last wavy hill flinging her skyward. Energy beams pierced the airspace where she fell, and as she contorted and spun to avoid the main scattered volley, a unified barrage struck and smacked her down into the forest. Trees splintered among a bubble cloud of debris on impact.

Spread out across the remaining cliff, the four wizards rushed for her. She stood once more, crisped and covered in twigs, but still conscious. Quavering, her unsteady fingers stretched into V-signs and she held them over her eyes.

Piccolo floated above, caught off-guard. "Oh no… Was her head knocked for a loop?" he questioned, finally distracted into forgetting his issues with the sidelines. The fight had only just begun and his student was already acting punch-drunk.

Down below, the four wizards spied Reed's stance and identified it. In an unsettling reaction, they put on the breaks and attempted to stop. Their feet tore through dust and grounded. In the face of whatever was about to happen, even Capos decided to go on the defensive. He continued his slow advancement but turned to his side.

Only now was Reed beginning to power-up. Her energy hopped like a burning-out flame. Piccolo grunted, not sure what to expect now. "What is this?!"

Reed yelled: "Loading AGHHH!"

Valb screamed like a startled hen and blocked: "You, you insolent witch!"

A neon green clock gauge stamped with runes displayed over her face, and as its needle spun—it filled. Reaching full capacity, it exploded and dispersed over her eyes into sharp green energy lenses. "Wiz-Razer Executed!" She held her pointer fingers out and aimed. "Sight confirmed? Confirmed!" Trees fell and the ground chipped and gouged away beneath her finger guns. "Confirmed! Confirmed! Confirmed! Confirmed!" She continued on.

The wizards screamed and ducked as an invisible force etched everywhere Reed pointed.

"This magic," Piccolo said, watching with widened eyes, "is incredibly weird..."

Down below, the wizards formed a haphazard line of defense. "What the hell!" Plectra spat, raising a magic shield with his hands, only for it to be julliened by Reed's wild flailing. He huffed, his black robes slicing apart. "The Old Wizard showed us this move just LAST THURSDAY." He clicked his tongue and raised another barrier. "That absolute shitty witch."

Bow had resorted to hiding behind Plectra's legs, prostrated and covering his head. "Capos," he cried, blubbering for his life. "Capos!"

"This move was already yours!" Rosin yelled, deflecting the oncoming slashes with his own red-lensed Wiz-razer—though it seemed he could only control one finger gun at a time.

Valb shrieked and danced nearby. With a half-successful dodge, his waistband shredded and his pants fell down in the process, revealing his berry-print underwear. He screeched and tied his pants back up.

With not a word, Capos stayed in place, swaying side to side, moving only to evade. His squinty, impassive eyes twinged when a small cut tore his pants leg. In retaliation, he raised a finger and fired an energy beam into Reed's face, blowing-out her right lens.

Reed curled and stifled a scream; instead, she gurgled. Grasping past the pixelated blood squirting from her smashed lens, she fumbled and tore it away—but too late. Capos appeared above her and smashed her head, sending her sliding and tilling the dirt with her face. "If you think your pretentious dual-wielding will cover your garbage defense," he said, "you're mistaken."

Valb and Bow stood, both clutching their faces and losing their minds. "Ha! He's the best, the coolest, ever!" they cried, fan-boying hard.

Seeing the opening Capos had created, Rosin and Plectra smiled and moved in for low blows, but Reed stabbed up—on one hand—and windmilled into a kick blender. Speeding up every revolution, her foot impacted their jaws they flung out, only to be replaced by Bow and Valb. The boys moved in, hands raised overheard and glowing as they charged blue energy.

"Wizard!" Bow yelled, recalling a familiar routine.

Valb finished the act with his grating voice, "Cap!"

Reed took the joint energy blast upfront this time—the only mercy was it was much weaker at this point in the past. She rolled back to regain distance and stood, huffing, arms scorched from where she blocked. For a moment, it seemed she would nod-off from exhaustion, but her eyes blinked and her gaze re-focused. Sliding a foot behind her, she lowered herself forward and put her hands up. Was she surrendering?

"And there you have it," Rosin cheered, "broken down to her last leg in five minutes flat." He nursed his bruised jaw, expertly hiding his rage with a carefree demeanor. "Behold, the witch's self-learned art. Of desperation."

Bow and Valb circled, chuckling. "Give her some credit," Bow said. "You know how it is with witches and fighting, right?"

Plectra put his hands in his robe pockets and snorted.

"That garbage style… It's about time we give it a name, don't you say?" Rosin continued, still managing to speak down despite his friendly tone. "How about this?" He pointed, alluding to Reed's lowered posture. "The Mutt School Style of Martial Arts."

The others released their laughter. "As expected of an unskilled and masterless pleb!" Valb decried.

With Reed's attention turning inward, her pose of surrender changed. Her focus sharpened. Her fingers and arms lowered—a curtain of anticipation brushing over them with their subtle turn.

Piccolo stayed put and watched. It was impossible to understand, but in that moment, it seemed all of Reed's openings had vanished. She'd never shown him this kind of defense before. "A mutt style?" he questioned himself. A style born from being out-numbered and over-powered at all times?

Her knees were out, back bent, and hands ready to intercept from any side. More than anything, it reminded him of a crab.

Valb stepped up. Broadcasting his intent with an elbow jittering for balance, he knifed a hand in around her guard and slipped in close. Her claw was already up; it caught his wrist in a vice grip and crimped a shriek from him. Pulling him around, she dragged him over and dropped on her hands, hanging him out on a bucking kick. He flung off on impact. She twirled away on all fours with playful, animal-like scooting.

Growling, Bow rushed at her and she fell backwards into a crab pose. Punching past her ducking brow, he lost speed from his missed connection and yelled: "Stop crawling around like a damned monkey!" She reached back. Pivoting on one hand, she flung her feet forward and whipped back upright, battering her hip at his stomach. Spit ejected from his mouth and she kept going; pulling his feet out from underneath him, she hoisted his limbs for a takedown. A stray blast slammed close and she lost momentum. Letting go and rolling away, she got up and ran when Rosin came after her pouring down fire.

The four lackeys rounded her, firing where she dashed. She skipped back, hands out and ready to counter, then held askew, only for her to wave them again for another fake-out. Her erratic movements held them off for only so long. Rejecting her bait in the end, they rushed her, jointly submitting a battery of 32 fists, elbows, knees, and heels.

With open hands, Reed rapidly deflected the brunt of it and dove, dropping and hooking her arms around a pair of necks. Plectra and Bow's eyes popped—their heads ramming together in the scissors of her arms. As they hit the ground, Rosin and Valb took over, joining together in booting Reed where she knelt. Dropping back, one leg forward, she caught herself on one hand, twisted, and kicked into a carting wheel of limbs. Rosin dodged Reed's reverse roundhouse and Valb evaded her following fist.

"Too slow!" Valb let out. The wizards moved closer, until she crouched, twisted her core, and spiked off the ground again. With her splayed leg catapulting with a build-up of centripetal force, her third kick axed into Valb's side. His skin rattled down to his bones and he fainted, sprawled.

Reed rose to her feet, skipping back until Rosin lowered his head and forced his way in. "Just a note," he said, reaching around and grabbing the length of her hair, "up close, your guard fails." Yanking her off-balance, he rapidly socked her in the stomach, lurching her with each jab. "Get past it, and unfortunately, it becomes!" Her ribs cracked. "Quite!" Blood sprayed. "Worthless!"

She coughed and rasped, taking each hit with a glug for air. Rosin's fist dove in again and she slipped under it. Crouching fast, she reached through his legs and grabbed his rear knee, lifting him off his feet. "Gack!" he croaked, letting go of her hair too late. Though since lost, his grip had immobilized him; she slung him over her back, twirling him around her shoulders like a water bucket yoke and—with a short-burst power-up—spun him upside down. His feet flung for the stars as she body slammed him, a crater splitting-up where he was driven. "Noted!" she exclaimed, wincing as debris pitted against her face. Releasing him, she jumped away when a blast came in. She looked both ways, already breathing too hard to keep up.

"Behind you!" Piccolo called, too focused on the fight to care about much else.

Capos appeared in the air behind Reed. His open hand chopped across her back, ripping her off her feet and slamming her into the forest. The tree canopy folded where she skidded sidelong, deforesting an entire swath in her crash. The strange birds living in the trees there finally showed themselves: all were long-necked parrots with massive wings. Spooked, they started into the night sky, their downy feathers drifting down to where Reed lay. Caught in the wreckage of twisted tree trunks and branches, she remained still and quiet, consciousness evading her.

Capos walked for her. Hearing his feet snap through twigs, she convulsed awake, choking and reaching to right herself.

He stood over her, relishing his handiwork, and stepped on her hand. "Overfamiliar," he said, twisting his heel on her broken fingers. "Overambitious."

"Eraaggh!" she yelled, finally caving-in to screaming. Though she squirmed, she never took her eyes off him.

Capos removed his foot and paused a tic. "But I must confess. There's something else I hate about you." He knelt down beside her and outstretched his hand. He brushed his furthest fingers along the outer ridges of her eyes.

Piccolo landed nearby, clenching his fists. "Damn it!" he growled, barely able to watch. "Get away! Run!" He winced, knowing his cries were useless.

Reed hyperventilated—sensing what Capos intended to do—but refusing to look away or lower her defenses. Even then, she was still searching for an opening for an attack.

By the sudden calm stilling her features, it appeared she'd found it.

Disquieted by this, Capos removed his hand, abandoning his motion to rip out her eyes. He scoffed. "The way you look at us," he said, his emotions veiled by his squinting fox eyes. "Watching us. Honestly. Truthfully." He reached out with hooked fingers, gripping her head instead. "That's what I hate THE most." He smashed her nose-first into the ground; she snarled and twisted, managing to keep watch of him. "How—even as you're eating dirt—you eye us with that disgusting hunger for battle." His hand sprouted aura as he embedded her chin in the earth. "Those eyes of yours. They watch our every move and self-apply them, calculating and learning, all with a sick sense of joy. Do you actually think you're as strong as us wizards? Do you actually think you can do our job better than us—the ones born for it?!"

As the ground cracked beneath Reed's forehead, Capos continued his ever-hastening rant: "This is all. All we have. And it isn't even worth anything!"

"Hrggg," Reed groaned and resisted, fracturing the ground in an outward web until it caved-in from the energy.

"Tracing our moves through the cheapened velum of your discretion! A warrior! Not because it's your place in the world, but because you actually want to be! Because you just _love_ violence." He ripped her up like a root. "What's it even good for? Huh? This all-for-show guard dog position? The endless pain and misery of training under some pretense of gallantry?" His eyes opened wide, pupils shuddering. "Haven't you figured it out yet? There hasn't been a war for millenia. We posture, as mere tokens, while witch magic runs the show. Don't you… don't you get it?"

Reed rasped, confusion slackening her jaw.

Capos raged. "You disgust me, you low-hanging lowlife!" He wound-up and punched her into the sky.

She righted mid-air and managed a half-landing, sliding on a weakened foot. She stood once more—her entire left side nearly boneless, but standing nonetheless. She huffed sickly.

Piccolo saw her broken, dangling limbs and hissed through his teeth. "This is it," he said, knowing the fight couldn't go on much longer. "It's over!" But as much as he willed for it to end, it couldn't.

It wouldn't. The memory was far from done.

Capos' arms rested at his sides. "For once, be honest with yourself." A shadow crested across his nose. "Don't you ever get tired of it all?" He peered up at the night sky. "Don't you ever get sick of this?"

Reed fought her stilted breathing. Her eyes blurred as she spent precious energy puzzling over what he even meant. In the end, she regained focus. "It gets better," she said in determination, "every time I get stronger."

He scowled. "I see. A typical response. Of a typical, useless, worthless, idiotic muscle head." His eyes opened and refracted moonlight, revealing they were orange—befitting of a fox. "Or perhaps, they're the veiled intent of a soulless monster?"

As if to provoke him, Reed thumbed the dirt off her nose and resumed her stolen—yet crumpled—wizard fighting stance.

Capos rushed at her screaming and fists flying. Reed sprung up a barrier, deflecting his nonstop punches with one arm.

"How dare you," he screamed, "a mere witch," he pushed through, whaling on her, "even have this much fighting spirit?!"

One arm could only block him a third of the time. Pushed back, Reed's body cracked, deteriorating under each punch. Stepping aside, she overswung. He faded in an instant, appearing beside her.

"Move!" Piccolo yelled.

Reed's eyes widened as a hand speared through her chest.


	10. Disarmed

Reed's knees gave-out, proceeded by her feet. Falling forward, she dangled on Capos's arm, heaving. "It's over," Capos said, jabbing his hand deeper into her chest. "But there won't be an afterlife for you." He looked down on her, a manic jubilance evaporating his usual boredom. "Once you die, I'll be certain to kill you again. In hell."

She grabbed his arm with her good hand.

"You," he said, "can't you tell when it's ov—eragh!" He tried pulling his arm out of the body he'd just stabbed it into. He yanked again and struggled, but it wouldn't dislodge. Instead, Reed's hand was clenching down on it. Her grip—it was like a bear trap.

"Now I," Reed grunted, "got you!"

Capos growled, his mood souring as he tugged. Not only was his arm being pinched by her crab-like grip, but his wrist was actually being _crushed_ by her abdomen's inner walls. Somehow, she'd weaponized her torso ITSELF. "So, you think you can stop me with just one arm," he yelled in disbelief, "and your weak little chest muscles?!"

Reed sputtered blood in place of laughter. Even though half her body was a bag of broken bones, she still wanted to keep going. "Don't forget, I still have plenty to stop you with. The mouth, elbow, knee, neck—even the eyes." She tensed, squeezing a hiss out of him. "I'll go through all of them if I have to." Her body creaked from the strain. "Because I refuse to lose!"

Piccolo grunted. "Then, earlier," he reasoned, remembering Reed's ready expression when Capos reached for her eyes, "was she planning on doing the same damn thing with just her eye sockets?!" He went cold as he imagined her, his pupil, sacrificing her sight just to make use of an extra set of muscles. He wanted to be angry with her but he couldn't. He went numb.

This was exactly what it took to win a life-or-death fight.

Reed's fingers and muscles burned with concentrated energy as her grip tightened. Under her cinching hold, Capos's arm bunched and reddened, leading to the moment where it, and the bone, started to pop.

Capos screamed. With the way he carried on, it sounded as if he was being ripped in half. In fumbling rage, he poured his remaining energy into his sunken arm, as a brace, and powered-up. "UAAAH!" he roared. "WHY WON'T YOU LET GO?" His fist burned, singeing into her innards, but she wouldn't budge. She wouldn't allow him to eject her with his energy. As he thrashed on, he realized his mistake. He'd given her a convenient handle—and now she wasn't letting go. "You!" He writhed. "You MEAN TO RIP IT OFF?!"

Grunting, Reed yelled and increased the vice-pressure in her hands—her joints cracked from the riveting force they held. She didn't answer. That was confirmation in itself.

Overcome with terror, Capos finally raised his free hand. "Impossible," he spat, "you craftless piece of dojo seconds, you're too weak to do this to me!" Fist trembling, he swiped it down and pummeled her mouth. Weathering through the strikes, Reed reared her head back and—slingshotting from the pull—headbutted him in the face. Blood erupted in all directions.

Capos's mouth dribbled. "You'll regret that, witch!" No longer thinking straight, he screamed and released the energy bracing his captured arm. Channeling it into his free hand instead, he recklessly raised it to blast her. A mistake—as his imprisoned arm was no longer being defended by his ki. Reaping the opportunity, Reed clenched her body; Capos's hand crushed in her chest like a baked nut. Yanking back, she spun aside and keeled away.

Stripped of details by the night, the ligaments of Capos's elbow tore loose from their casing. He was finally free, but in the worst way possible.

He screeched with all the wind in his throat.

Stumbling away, Capos cradled the stub where his arm used to be. Pressing his way through the shock, he regained just enough sense to leap away from her.

Reed unsheathed the arm and tossed it aside. The hole it left behind in her chest gaped—seared by the struggle.

Capos summoned his magic. As if plucking a needle from the air, he motioned. "Rever!" he spat, shivering. A thin string of yellow light spun out and hooked his arm, fishing it off the ground and back into its rightful place. The light worked carefully, slowly stitching and repairing the sever.

At a standstill, both Reed and Capos caught their breath, the two of them both bearing down over each others' weakened states.

"I'll," Capos said, swallowing air—his pupils shrank, smothered by their whites, "kill you!"

Reed panted, still worse off. She scowled beneath the nighttime shadows wilting her features. "You'll need more arms, rat bastard."

Piccolo flinched, startled to hear such words from Reed's mouth.

Enraged, Capos garbled, "What did you just SAY?" He shook, multiple blood-vessels popping on his forehead. "Don't test me, castoff. You should've ended twice already." He scowled. "You're so much weaker than me! Practically teetering on the precipice of death, even!" He clenched his damaged arm. "How are you even still standing?!"

Mud dripped down from the cut on Reed's forehead: grime made of sweat, blood, and debris. A small smile of happiness tugged at her mouth. Was it possible that, in this mad state, she was actually enjoying herself? A blood-thirsty animal testing nature. A martial artist. Here she was, at this time, doing the one thing she always really loved. And with a seemingly endless well of pride and determination.

"She's like a completely different person," Piccolo said. In his mind, he saw the Reed of the present day, crushed by her own depression and weaknesses, while balanced on the verge of a nervous breakdown. This Reed, however...

Capos held his glowing, stitched bicep. "No matter. What were you saying again, hm? I'll need more arms?" he echoed her. He looked down, hiding what appeared to be a grin. "Hm. Is that so?" Capos held his arms out—as if holding back the night—and tensed. He screamed and it began.

Reed froze. Even _she_ could sense the pressure building from her enemy's back.

Capos growled lowly. His muscles bulged, and as he raised his arms, energy radiated off his shoulders in pulsating waves.

Piccolo's nose scrunched. "Alright, there's no way this can be!" he yelled, recognizing this technique. He refused to believe what was transpiring; but as unbelievable as it was, this was honestly where the damned memory was going.

Reed remained speechless, knees buckling at the unnatural sight before her.

Capos clenched his fists and screamed. Two lumps were rolling around on his back, both raising and tearing through his robe. As they unfolded—like two skin-trapped knees from his shoulder blades—his robe and shirt shredded away, revealing his baggy, tie-waist pants.

The protrusions of skin on Capos's back elongated, one after the other, until they grew into full-blown arms. They sprouted fists as they unfurled.

"But this is!" Reed sputtered, shaking.

Two arms protruded from Capos's back, rising tall over his two natural ones. "The Four Witches Technique," he explained, growling from the strain, "a secret technique guarded by a migratory, interspace people once exiled from Sub-Earth! But it's secrecy is no more. Here it is! Recreated! Rebuilt by augury and immense study." He turned aside, revealing how his second set of arms were now part of his shoulder blades. "How I've scoured through countless tomes just to re-create it," he said, "all while gleaming from fragmented visions of the past, present, and future."

Reed was frozen before his freakish limbs. "You can… divine?" she said, shaking. She could only imagine what he'd seen: warriors from an endless scope of time, moving in unison, perfecting this move in their differing eras.

"That's right," Capos declared. "Fortune-telling is a piece of cake. Of course I've mastered the basics of witchcraft." He held his chest with his nearest arm. "I've succeeded in all the ways that you, as a witch, have failed." He looked upon her with severe judgment. "And I will only continue to outdo you... as a wizard."

Robbed of all response, Piccolo stood aside in disarray. Why the hell did this wizard have one of Tien Shinhan's moves? Visions of the past, present, and future? Migratory interspace people? Sub Earth? Just what had this wizard seen? Scratch that, what the hell did he even _know_?

How far in the past was this whole memory even from?!

Regaining some nerve, Reed steadied her standing. "It doesn't matter how many limbs you grow," she said. "Because I'm gonna prune you like a plum tree, pal."

Capos laughed, no longer hampered by worries. "You really don't know the meaning of quitting, do you?" he said, thumping all four fists together. He arranged them like a propeller and rushed at her. "Allow me to demonstrate, then"—his hands tore through the air until they looked like a hundred—"how that stubbornness is gonna put you in the ground!"

Reed jerked, rapidly clocked in the throat. Choking through the hits, she blocked but was thoroughly beaten back. Fists hammered over her with deadly synchronization. If there was any comfort in this merciless onrush, it was that a slight pattern had emerged.

Grinding his teeth, Piccolo stopped when Reed finally saw it. Pivoting on her good foot, she swung back and momentarily broke free.

Capos roared when his fists dove back in: "Useless thief! You"—his fists shot her shoulders in a resounding round—"should know your place!"

Piccolo saw everything slow down with his experienced perception: Reed swung right back into the gap in Capos's pattern, back to where she was before, right into danger. This time, however, she lowered down into her "crab style" stance. Her good arm lifted, her last leg bowed. Capos came swinging with all four arms.

Reed jolted—and tamped down hard. She caught one fist beneath her underarm, one in her elbow, and the third in her hand. His last fist she caught firmly—square under her chin.

Capos's insane grin flattened into quick despair. And now, he was back where he started. "This isn't happening!" he yelled, recoiling against his trapper. "No!" His desperate squirming peaked at what followed next.

With the last few muscles afforded to her, Reed clamped down tight. "Know my place? Really… I'm sure you already know," she said, eyes locked onto his struggle, "that I don't belong anywhere."

"Erng!" Capos gasped, his muscles twitching as he fought to break free. "I've beaten you down, there's no way you can keep going! What are you? You"—he pulled and yanked against his restraints, but nothing came free—"you monster!"

"Being nothing but something other... sounds about right," Reed said. "After all, I've got no place to go"—she twisted her frame, propped to tear him asunder—"but right through you."

Four flaskfuls of wine-tinged fluid glimmered in the starlight. It gushed, as if their caps had been twisted off, sideways. Eyes wide open, Capos screamed. He collapsed beneath the gore, his childlike wailing registering that he was still but a boy.

Fooled by what he even knew about any of this, Piccolo's mouth fell open, the last of their exchange breaking between the imagery of what he'd ever seen. He knew that he'd been here before, in this kind of horrendous, one-sided exchange.

It must've been an eternity ago.

Piccolo clutched his head, a memory tearing to the surface of his muddled soul. "No," he said, his eyes wavering beneath this sliver of a recollection, "those memories are supposed to be gone." Those things were supposed to have been forgotten, along with his real name. It had all been carefully cut away on purpose, so long ago.

Pressing his skull, he forced them back. He screwed-up his eyes and yelled. He couldn't remember them or his name; he wouldn't. It just wasn't possible! He was supposed to be incomplete. But something else broke through.

It was a memory of what once fractured his own soul.

* * *

 **A/N: Cutting it off here is a stylistic choice (maybe).**

 **Honestly, thank you for all those reviews. I've read them dozens of times.**


	11. Nameless Namek

A Namek child sat on a wind-chilled bluff. For as far as the eye could see, the flat tops of grassy highlands veiled the earth. On this alien planet, out in the wilds, the boy waited, hoping somebody would find him.

Once, the boy could remember the warmth of his homeland's suns, or the fragrance of its tree blossoms crumbling to the ground. Back then, he could also remember his father's face—a Namek with a thick brow and hollow cheeks, much like his own.

Countless days passed. Isolation stole the boy's grip on time—and slowly, his mind. At times, he could hear the laughter of his friends, calling to him over the howling wind. He'd stand up and chase them, running along the bluffs until he folded into a half-frozen ball.

Eventually, all his memories of home dimmed beneath that dark and numbing sky. His mind merely stayed behind to watch.

One day, something appeared in the distance like a mirage. A line of movement, like insects, was forging its way through the southern valleys. It wasn't until they came closer that the boy recognized what they were. People.

Just over a hundred people arrived, their carts wheeled by blubbery, tan birds with webbed feet. From first glance, the people could be mistaken for bears—as their bodies were covered in furs and hoods made from wolf heads. But as they arrived and set-up camp, they shed their skins, revealing themselves to be lifeforms not much different than himself. Humans. The Namek gasped when he saw the smaller among them—children, much like him, running around and playing as the adults settled their camp.

There wasn't much in the dreary coldness of Yunzabit Heights, but these people didn't seem to mind. They were grateful for the desolate place, even. Still, the boy never showed himself to them. He would only watch them from the cliffs instead. One wrong introduction, and he knew they'd flee. Straight away, the peoples' paranoid habits revealed to him how used they were to living on the run.

They adapted quickly, digging up roots and clay from the hard soil. Living in tents hidden under the cliffs, they built strange, burrow-like stoves which burned little fuel and showed no smoke. They only foraged in the dusk or dawn, when the light was at its lowest. They buried their garbage deep in the ground.

In the beginning, these people were silent, even.

As their lives grew more peaceful, their sound grew livelier. They began to make music.

At night, they danced outside their glowing burrows, drums hammering and string instruments twanging over the highlands. A giant clay ape stood in the center of their festivities. At times, they even carried it, hollering and singing.

From his vantage point on a nearby plateau, the young Namek would watch their merrymaking until he drifted off to sleep. Even though he was homesick, he was no longer truly alone. Curled up in the blistering cold, his sleeping mind would drift down. And he would dream about a life down there with them.

To better understand the language of these people, the boy often watched a small family that lived on the outskirts of the village: a mother, father, and young daughter. From this family's lone position, it became known that they had no other family—though they still had many friends.

At times, the father journeyed up the plateau, close to where the young Namek stayed, digging and foraging. Hiding behind the cliff face, the boy would observe him. It wasn't long before the boy knew this family well enough to feel comfortable eavesdropping on their day-to-day life.

It was late dusk in the middle of their third year when the father, a dark-haired man, dug a large root out of the ground. With two strikes, he knocked on it, impressed by its clear, dry sound. "This'll make me a nice chair," he mused to himself, breaking it off and hoisting it over his shoulders. "Hup!" He took his prize and went off on his way.

That night, he and his family watched the villagers sing and dance outside their hearths.

"They say that this year, they'll hold the festival for certain," the mother said, pulling molten-hot roots off the stove with her bare hands. She hummed as she handed them to her family. Both father and daughter yelped, their roots jumping out of their hands. They huffed and puffed to cool them down.

The father, managing to wrangle his dinner, cleared his throat. "Even if they don't hold the festival, it won't matter," he said, taking a bite, "they've practically had one every night anyway."

The mother gazed out at the crowd, deep in thought. "Yes. It's almost as if they're making up for lost time."

Their little girl laughed, happily munching. "Well, I like how the festival's every night," she said, mouth full of food. "Hey! Do you think I could be a drummer someday, too?"

Her father stared at the musicians and ruffled his facial scruff. "You could be one before this year's festival," he said, "IF you practiced enough."

The little girl threw her arms up and yelled, "Yeah, I'm gonna do it! I've always wanted to!" Jumping about and getting all hyper, she suddenly yawned.

"It's been a long day," the mother said, scooping her daughter up. "You can start first thing tomorrow, ok?" As the mother took her into the tent, the father examined the root he'd dug up earlier. Grabbing a knife, he began hollowing it out.

The mother brushed past the tent, watching. "I thought you were going to make yourself a chair," she said.

"Well," he said. "I'm making a drum now." He picked up the massive root and leveled it against his eyes, visualizing its new form. "I'll make my chair next time." He set it back down and whittled away.

The mother lifted an animal hide bag. Leveraging a knife against one of its sides, she ripped its seam and pulled the bag apart.

The father looked up, stunned. "Isn't that important?" he asked. "Your mother gave it to you."

"Yes..." She placed a hand over the holes in the underside of the bag. "But she wanted me to pass it onto my daughter, too. Besides, it's no good for holding anything anymore. The hide still has life, though." She took the largest piece of hide and stretched it. "I'll find myself another bag in the future."

The days went on. During the day, the girl would practice drumming on a clay pot with a teacher, and at night, her parents would tell her stories about the festivals of old. After the girl went to bed, her father and mother worked by the fire, carving the drum and shaping the hide.

The parents worked hard to finish it before the end of the year. On the last night of the mid-year, they completed it.

Watching from his hiding spot on the nearby cliff, the young Namek nodded off.

That morning, he was woken by deafening shrieks.

The giant clay ape statue smashed to ground. Men in suits of armor stamped through, their swords cutting through anyone that moved. The young Namek could only watch from his spot on the cliff, flattened and trembling. There was nothing he could compare what he was seeing to, nor any response he could give that made sense. His eyes widened and burned. What was this feeling? He had no word for it yet.

Down below, the family of three was surrounded at their encampment. The father dropped to his knees and the mother begged for her daughter's life. With one slash, they toppled, the drum they'd just completed splitting in two. Metal boots crushed the halves. The little girl covered her eyes and screamed.

After letting everything he cared about slip away, the boy found it in himself to move. Flying down, he grabbed her—the last friend he knew—as his newfound disgust mixed with the horror of his failing voice. He hadn't spoken in so long. But what could he say? That he was just a stranger, one who watched them all die?

As the girl craned her neck to look at him, his avoidance of her village became justified. Her eyes broke open and she pried his hands away. Rather than understand, she screamed.

"A monster," she called him, slipping from his hands.

It was impossible to tell if she was still alive after she fell. It wasn't until she budged, crawling towards her parents' resting place, that he saw there was still time. He raced the same path as her but never made it. Pain split his sides where his body grew lighter.

The suits of armor revealed themselves to be men. "A demon?" one asked, dispatching the girl in one movement.

Eyes shuddering, the boy collapsed, his limbs spilling away on the ground. The man knelt close, but not out of mercy; he picked up the boy's left arm and inspected its green skin. "The arm of a mountain demon," he said, certain of its origin. "This kind of material"—he and his group chuckled—"sells for a fortune."

The men tied the limbs to a line and, acting as if they'd made a great fishing haul, discussed how they'd divide up the rest.

Though the boy no longer bled-out, his consciousness blunted. Even though they were no longer there, he could see the villagers dancing in the center of the valley, their loud music drowning out everything. Nestled beside their razed tent, the family rested and watched, just as they always used to.

Everything was gone now. The young Namek closed his eyes, weakened, hoping he wouldn't see what happened next. But as he chanced a glance at his shoulders, he saw his limbs regrowing—as if by magic—just like the mountain roots that always reappeared overnight.

The men waffled at first. But as they realized their fortune, they came closer with the line and their blades, herding him like an animal.

How many days did they drag him for? During that time, he lost so much. His limbs, his unconditional love. Anything that came back would be quickly cut away again.

He even lost his name.

A few years older, the nameless Namek wandered through a dusty town at the furthest end of the land. In the distance loomed the dark sky and plateaus of Yunzabit Heights. He looked on it with longing. That place was all he could remember now, so he'd chose to return there for the sake of waiting—and in hopes that everything would come back to him there.

With a dirty hand, he held his addled head, his other hand tugging along a fish net full of scorched armor. Why was he dragging this along again? His fingers slipped from the line as he left. It was no longer important to him. The nightmare was over. He could finally get away from the people of Earth.

The people about town retreated after one look at his face. "What is that," a low voice asked, "that ugly monster?"

"A demon," was the answer. "Or something or other."

He closed his eyes and disappeared into the dreary valleys.

Pulling out of his memory, Piccolo released his grasp on his own face. How could it possibly resurface now that he was incomplete? How could it still be there when the one that it was attached to was destroyed?

These horrific memories. They were supposed to have died with King Piccolo.

Shaking through his sweat, Piccolo forced himself to focus on the fight before him. It wasn't over yet; Capos had finally stopped bellyaching long enough to magically sew his arms back on. Depleted of magic power, his third and fourth arms dissipated to reserve strength.

Eyes heavy, Reed stood by and watched, her mouth opening and closing with staggered breaths.

Piccolo watched, his gut instincts matching up with his reason. It was her, wasn't it? She'd triggered all this.

Healed enough to move again, Capos fumbled to stand. He eyed Reed with a wry face. "How did you even get this far?" he rasped. "Your strength—it should be inferior to a wizard's in every way. How?" He eyes were peeled wide open, maddened. "Why?!"

Reed calmed her breathing just enough to answer. "If you really must know," she said, her tone half way between truth and humor, "it was all the Iron Lid Training."

Capos leaned forward, confused. "What the hell is that?" he yelled, appalled by this well-kept secret.

"So you do want to know." She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and waited. Though she was obviously buying time, his impatience gave her no choice but to continue. "Unlike you, I never got any fancy training. So I had to get creative."

"Tell me, witch!"

"Alright then. When your witch brew backfires as well as mine does, you're bound to get stuck with regular clean-up duty. In my case, that meant cauldron clean-up. And not just mine, but everyone's. Hours of my time, sunken into hauling and scrubbing those pots every day—which was good training in itself—but not the star work-out of my proved regime."

Capos clutched his arms. "With such lackluster magic, it'd take four of you to lift one of those things," he muttered.

"Well, I could only drag them at first. But as the days passed, my work got easier. And also, ever more boring. That's when I started goofing off."

"Is there a point to this story?!"

"Hold on. I'm getting there! So, I while the cauldrons were drying, I would gather all the lids I could find—dozens of them at a time—and totally load myself down. I braced them in every joint I had. Arms, fingers, hands, mouth, knees, and feet. And then..."

Capos listened, eyes narrowing.

"I'd go on a walk," she said.

Capos exploded: "Enough with the lies, none of that is even physically possible! Those lids. They weight almost as much as a person!"

"Cauldron lids ARE unwieldy, I'll give you that." Reed looked smug. "They would slip at the slightest of movements, but that only made my grip stronger. Every day, I took on more. I pushed my limits until finally"—she encircled her arms, carrying the weight of her claims—"the village ran out of lids."

Capos grit his teeth and yelled, "That's impossible!"

"No way," she swore. "I totally ran out of lids at the end!"

"That... that isn't what I was doubting, you—urgh—you dumbass!"

"Dumbass?!"

Piccolo sweated, totally forgetting about his previous troubles. "Unfortunately, I have to agree with him," he muttered, distracted by Reed's ridiculousness instead. What was this comedy skit doing in the middle of such a serious battle? For a moment, he almost forgot that they were overgrown children here.

With one step, Capos reset the mood of the fight. "Enough chit chat. It's time to end it," he said. Leaping up, he spun away like a flipped coin.

Reed tracked his movements with serious eyes. Burning the last of her reserved energy, she flung herself into the air and summoned her broom—latching on and moving closer. She was flying right into his energy kick.

Piccolo folded his arms, watching. "So she's going for it, huh," he said, already knowing how she intended to counter.

Reed soared under Capos's raised leg, twisting until she was right under his energy blade. Reaching into the jump, she caught it—her hand gripped his other ankle at the last second.

Capos felt this added weight too late. Like a bola yo-yo-ing from its extra ball weight, his controlled spinning veered off-course, into reverse, and they both dropped—the two of them yelling and smashing into the ground below.

It was a messy landing. With the both of them flung off on impact, it became a race to see who could recover first. Piccolo searched through the dust, hopeful that she'd managed a save in such dire condition, but it was no use. Reed was face down and out.

As the dust cleared away, Capos stood.

Reed's hands twitched—and as if waiting to receive something—they upturned. Down from the sky, her broom dropped, falling right in her open palms. She gripped it and willed it to tug her upright.

Surprise gurgled out of Capos's mouth. "How?" he asked again and again. "Why?" He showed genuine surprise. "How... do you have this much fight left in you?"

While coming to an answer, her broom pulled her to her feet. She didn't even breath. Perhaps it was because she was choosing the right words to say. There was a possibility, after all, that if she exchanged her true thoughts, a different course of understanding would opened.

But that idea came just too late.

Blasting from behind, an energy beam pierced her arm and then her leg, the last beam blowing-out her balance. Eyes blank, her hand slipped from the broom and she fell.

In the distance, Rosin lowered his arm, smiling. "This is but a taste of what's to come, witch," he said grandly, ignoring his underhandedness. "Behold! The Wizard Killer. You, a mere copycat, should be overjoyed at being destroyed by such a sacred attack."

Reed weakly raised her head. Through the dust, Capos's stance was changing. Feet sliding apart, he slumped forward, fingers interlocked and bracing over his right knee. Bright green energy flourished in his grasp. "Wizard," he yelled, no longer caring for any answers.

"You see this?!" Rosin yelled, excitedly. "His true level is far beyond your comprehension! Before it, your cheap tricks will be put to rest. Feel honored! For he is the youngest wizard to ever master this technique—in all of our history!"

Lifting his hands high, Capos's energy flashed and burgeoned into a giant green energy javelin. Raising it over his shoulder, he speared it right at her. "...Killer!" he finished his call with a roar, all while sending the crackling wave her way.

The night sky flashed and the cliff side where they fought—and the memory itself—disappeared. But there was still room to stand. Even if it was no longer a tangible place, Piccolo found himself waiting in the darkness anyway. After some time, the sights around returned, though grayed-out in appearance.

Seemingly lit by a stage-light, Reed appeared, face up on the ground, smoldering. The skin on her left side had been completely stripped away.

Capos appeared as well. His lackeys pulled him from where he stood—but his eyes were empty and his stance frozen. Something was wrong, and it soon became apparent why. He had passed-out while still standing.

Bow waved his hand in front of him. "He's totally out of it," he said. "But the witch? She's still breathing."

"Wragh! How is she still alive?!" Valb demanded.

Plectru had the next word. "She must've gotten lucky."

"Well, it matters not," Rosin said. "From this point on, the playing field won't be so equal anymore. We'll be advancing to the next stage of training soon, and in private, to a place she can't see us."

Capos finally roused awake. Supported by his underlings as he walked past, he stopped and glared down at Reed. "One day," he said, "this spirit of mine will grow and far surpass any others. When that happens." His gaunt face resumed its old dispassion. "I'll break that spirit of yours."

Piccolo stood close to Reed, fists clenched and arms shuddering from withheld fury. So this was the Capos of the distant past. Just how strong was he today? Was it jealousy that motivated him then and now? Whatever his deal was, Piccolo's eagerness to allow his student a re-match with him was dwindling.

It was apparent that Capos would still make good on his threat to kill Reed twice over.

Out from the grayed-out road, a young man wearing witch robes ran closer.

Though half-dead, Reed recognized him at once. "Brother," she emitted.

Collapsing beside her, he lifted a potion vial to her mouth. "Hold your breath," Cork said, pouring slowly so she could drink. Tucking it away, he brought out a wad of cloth. Reed's hideous skeleton arm was the first thing he set about bandaging.

"You're right on time," she sputtered, opening her good eye as he wrapped cloth around her split head.

"Why didn't you run?" Cork demanded, tying off the last wrap. He held his hands over her and started his healing magic. Though he was angry, his tears burst through. "Why do you keep fighting them like this?!"

Reed didn't emote anything. "I'm sorry. I wish it was different," she said, "but in a roundabout way, they're actually training me."

"No they're not!" Cork cried. "They're not helping you, they're trying to kill you!" He hunched over, trying to stop his tears. "Why are you even doing this?"

"Because my magic is poor." It was the same canned response she always gave. "So, I want to be strong in the one real way I can be."

"It still doesn't make any sense! It won't matter when we're old enough to leave this place. All the people in the outside world—unlike you, they're just normal!"

With her strength returning, Reed reached up and grabbed his wrist. "You know that isn't true," she said.

Cork hesitated.

"Don't think I didn't hear about it," Reed said. "About the turmoil awaiting the outside world—the destruction that will follow in the next 50 years. In the future, the Earth will be in constant danger."

Cork lowered his head, knowing it all-too-well.

"It's like a game to the other witches, but still. They're the only ones who actually bother showing me the images… Of buildings and civilization falling. Of explosion after explosion. So many people will die, over and over."

"It isn't what you think," Cork stammered.

Reed closed her eyes and went off: "Stop lying to me! You should know better than anyone—you're the one who can actually USE a crystal ball."

Cork went silent, seemingly bothered by something. "I'll repeat myself until you finally listen," he said, making up his mind. "I want you to stop fighting."

Piccolo stood over them and scowled. Right then, he hated all his past involvement in the Earth's destruction more than ever before. But in the moment after? He hated his agreement with Reed's brother.

Cork's feelings were spot on. If fighting meant Reed getting this hurt, then Piccolo didn't want it. He realized it right then; he didn't want to lose her.

Why was he training her for this?

"I'll admit it," Reed said at last. "I have a selfish reason for fighting. A desire." Her voice fell, muted by her confession. "Because—even if it's awful, even if it's painful, it's the only thing that makes me feel alive." Her hand fell back to her side. "I'm sorry for always relying on you, for being like this. I know it's wrong." She strained, explaining herself. "Maybe, I really am a monster. But still. I hope to break through that shell someday… as a martial artist."

Piccolo turned away. It had taken him a moment of self-doubt, but he understood now. So this was why he was training her. He thought of his comrades—no, his friends—and it all became clear again. For people like them, fighting was the only way to live.

Cork sunk closer into his sister's side, defeated. "If only I was stronger," he said. "Then you wouldn't have this kind of life. If only I was a good enough wizard... If only I was a better brother!" He pounded his fists on the ground. "If I weren't so useless, I could protect you!"

Reaching up, Reed grabbed his face. "That's not true," she said. "You're the best brother yet, and your magic is the greatest I've ever seen." She squished his cheeks out of shape. "After all, it's your magic that allows me to see the future."

"I can't… I don't understand!" He tugged away from her. "Promise me! Promise me that you won't fight anymore."

"Hey." She said, regaining just enough vigor to go off on a tangent. "I took on five wizards and knocked them all out. The Old Wizard says it's almost impossible to survive uneven fights like that. I'm a pretty strong wizard, huh?"

"Don't change the subject! You can't call Capos blasting you half-dead a win! Promise me that you won't fight Capos again. I just want you to live a normal life!"

Reed closed her eyes and kept quiet. It seemed she was ignoring him.

"You don't even try to understand," he said, frustrated. "When you're out here in the woods, bloodying your knuckles, training by yourself—it feels like it's all my fault! Dressing-up, meeting with friends, going out on dates... I just wanted you to know those joys for once, but you won't even take the first step," Cork exclaimed. "If this is what it means to be a martial artist, then"—he placed his hands over her bandaged ribs and hesitated—"then I want you to stop!"

Moments before, Piccolo agreed with Cork completely. Strange how that changed after seeing the broken look on Reed's face.

"Can't you just believe in me," she asked, voice diminishing, "like how I believe in you?"

"I won't let you harm yourself anymore," Cork said. "That's what this is, isn't it? I'm not going to let you hurt yourself anymore!"

"Why?"

"Because you're a witch!"

Reed tried to move but was stuck. All that stirred in her was deepening hurt and frustration. "No, I'm a..."

Her memory was shut down before she could be.

Slipping back into unconsciousness, Piccolo had just enough time to recount how selfish his previous feelings were.

Her future wasn't for him, or anyone, to decide.

So why did he want her to stop fighting? Wasn't it what drew him to her in the first place? Even if it was out of affection, his feelings were misplaced.

Love. At least, that kind of love, was the most worthless of all.

Before he could brace himself, her voice resounded: "To the person I once was..."

The stage had already vanished, but he could already feel the setting changing. Whatever followed, it was certain. It would free them from the bounds of their memories.


End file.
